Getting back into my work laptop and the various accounts it connected to is a long process that only further illustrates why the IT guys hold onto a laptop for a week before they give it to new hires. There’s too much to set up.
Yesterday after my meeting with Gwen had been close enough to 5pm that I just went home instead of dealing with it, leaving it for the morning.
Returning the next morning with fresh eyes did not make the process any easier.
It’s a lot of entering the same password and email address into different accounts and applications. I know there’s probably some IT protocol that I should have followed to make all the passwords unique, but I can’t really bring myself to give a damn when this way just makes it easier.
I message one of my coworkers for the shared accounts’ info, the logins that use the generic [email protected] address that everyone in the department can access.
It doesn’t take all morning, just an hour or so. The tediousness of the task makes that hour feel like several.
Then I hit a wall.
None of the email addresses work on one of the portals, the one for approving PTO requests. I enter the department email again and again, and after I put the password in, it takes me to a page saying the account doesn’t exist. None of my coworkers remember what the account information is because none of them ever bother to log out of it.
I stare at my screen a while longer, fingers resting tensely on the keys, willing myself to remember something that is just not there.
After I try the same email addresses a couple more times, hoping it was a small typing error that threw the process off, and all of my attempts getting the same screen of failure, I slouch down in my chair in frustration.
I can’t do this on my own.
I dial the IT Department general number and try not to cringe at myself for knowing it by heart. I have to hang up and do it again when I nearly dial Khent’s extension number.
It rings a few times, and I chew my lip hoping I don’t get Khent. Hoping anyone else will pick up.
Am I really calling the IT Department over something so small?
I’m in the middle of contemplating hanging up when a familiar voice answers, and my heart sinks into my stomach.
“IT Department, how can I help you?” Khent says, his voice friendly as usual, though a little tired.
He doesn’t sound particularly upbeat, not that I would have expected him to. Hearing him happy right now might bury me alive.
I’m quiet for way too long trying to pull some other insight from the tone of those few words.
“Hello?” He repeats.
“Hi! Uh, yeah. Um,” I fumble with the phone.
“Oh,” Khent says, a note of surprise and not much else I can decipher when he recognizes my voice.
“Yeah,” I sigh, sinking further into my chair, kind of acknowledging that I don’t want to be calling him either. If only crawling under my desk would allow me to escape this moment. Maybe the floor could conveniently swallow me up like it does when the boss gets in a mood.
“Um, I, uh, accidentally locked myself out of the admin side of the PTO Request portal. It keeps saying my account doesn’t exist, but I don’t think I deleted it.”
I twist the desk phone’s curly cord between my fingers anxiously in the silence.
“Can you tell me what email address I’m supposed to use to log in?” I ask after too many beats and too many breaths have passed and I’m starting to wonder if he’s not going to answer me because I don’t deserve it.
“Evil Co One,” he says. I can’t get anything from his voice.
A few seconds of silence stretch by, waiting for him to add the @ and a dot com in there. It never comes.
I clear my throat and try again, “Which one?”
“The Evil Co. address,” he states again, and I can’t help but notice it’s still not an email address. I don’t know what was wrong with my question.
I humor him and type ‘Evil Co. One’ into the address bar, and surprise, it doesn’t work because that’s not an email address.
“I don’t know what that address is,” I say after grumbling through mashing the backspace bar.
“…It’s your email address. Just use your own work email.”
My cheeks burn. I don’t think I’ve ever felt dumber. Why hadn’t I tried that?
The words start piling up in my chest, apologies that don’t feel good enough to say, winding up and tightening my throat. I want to tell him I had been spinning myself into some kind of anxiety attack that day, that I wished I hadn’t hurt him, that he hadn’t deserved to be pushed away with an email.
I should have at least given him the chance to hear his response in person, to perhaps refute the knee jerk reaction I was having.
But it’s too much to wonder how that could have gone differently, to wonder if I still had a chance of patching that up. I couldn’t ask that of him when I had already done so much damage.
Khent speaks before I can get any words out.
“You don’t have to worry about the elevator footage. I put a magnet on top of the security tape shelf.”
My throat is too tight for the small laugh to get through. My heart aches to tell him that’s rather old school.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I say, and it comes out weaker than I want it to.
“You didn’t have to,” he answers simply, a deeper note of emotion coloring his words. It’s open and caring the way he’s always been, in the way I should have known he was.
I press the phone hard against my face because my hand starts to tremble. I bite my lip closed so it doesn’t wobble.
“I’m sorry–” I start to say, when dial tone starts buzzing in my ear. I don’t know if he heard me.
I dig through the box of things I’d packed up and hadn’t gotten through unpacking again, looking for the little mug warmer and the vial of claiming ritual oil. I set it up and as soon as I can feel any kind of heat coming off the mug-warmer, I tip a droplet onto it.
Not because I need it as some kind of anti-horny essential oil diffuser, but because I miss the warmth that smelling it made me feel. The sunlight-kissed coziness that was the same as seeing Khent smile.
But now, it doesn’t smell like anything at all.
I blink, and after a few moments, sniff a few other things in my office to make sure my nose is still working. Stale vinegar chips and an air freshener tag confirm that it is.
I fall back in my chair, slumping a little more than before. Did the oil only smell like that because I’d been under the Blood Fever’s spell?
Pretty much all of the Blood Fever symptoms were cleared up, and here I was, still missing him. I buried my face in my hands.
If I’d met him normally, got to know him normally, no nose-breaking fever-inciting accidents involved, I still would have really liked him. I’d have been charmed by his dorky little mannerisms and his unfunny jokes and probably still come to the conclusion that I wanted to ride his tusks in a non-supernaturally charged horniness kind of way. I don’t give a damn about soulmates or whatever, he made my days better just by being there.
I had to stop stewing in my office at some point. The thing that ended up wrenching me out of my chair was that I had a meeting in fifteen minutes. I figured being surrounded by people and having to think about something that wasn’t how much of an idiot I’d been lately would be better.
But my bad luck wasn’t done with me today.
Not halfway to the meeting, I spotted him down the hall, maybe fifty feet. I wondered momentarily how I had never noticed how often we walked the same spaces and had never spoken to each other.
But after that phone call, I didn’t think I could withstand another awkward encounter, even if it was as small as walking past him, pretending I wasn’t making eye contact with him for a better reason.
I was just thinking that there was an empty conference room behind me that I could duck into and hide in while he walked down the hallway, when the fire alarm went off.
For the next moment, I had about one thought per second.
First, realizing it was just a fire alarm. The loudness of it had startled a little adrenaline into my system, but the familiarity of its blaring kicked in quickly.
Thud.
Second, that I could smell just a touch of burned popcorn. Jeez, who makes popcorn in the office? That and microwaving fish should just be banned.
Thud.
Third, I should turn around and head down a different staircase to the parking lot than Khent.
Thud.
Fourth, what was that noise?
Whatever I was going to think next was thrown aside as I was lifted up bodily. It didn’t register so much as being picked up in my brain as it felt more like being knocked into, colliding with someone hurrying past.
Then there’s the sounds of traffic and the outdoors, and I realize I’m draped over Khent’s shoulder like a scarf, and he’s currently scaling down the side of the office building.
Building. Outside. Ground.
The realization of what hanging off the side of the building really means comes staggered, slowly all together falling into place.
I’m torn between squeezing my eyes shut so I can’t see how far off the ground we still are, and watching each grab at the side of the building he takes just to assure myself that we’re not about to fall. Every movement he makes, digging his fingers into the brickwork, strong and even somewhat graceful, is still terrifying. I need a seat belt or a Janice bjorn or something, anything that’s going to assure me he won’t just drop me five stories. I nearly elbow him in the face trying to get my arms around his neck.
“Did you attend the same MR meeting as I did?” I squeak, because that’s where my brain goes when nothing else makes sense. It’s easier to focus on the fact we’re supposed to be keeping our distance and this is the opposite of that, than it is to confront that we’re dangling off the side of the building.
He stills, and after a moment I can bear to take a peek at him.
Khent has the audacity to look a little surprised himself. “Fuck.”
“Fuck is not gonna cut it,” I continue to shrill with no semblance of authority.
“I just– I heard the alarm and I didn’t think. I just had to get my mate out– I mean,” he tries to backtrack, but it’s too late.
My mate. The words send warmth all through my core and relax all the muscles in my back. To him, we’re bonded, not in the middle of a breakup. The part of me that was apparently still dealing with the lingering effects of the Blood Fever– ok, the part of me that actually really missed him, is cheerleading like I scored a touchdown.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that–” he starts to say.
“It’s fine,” I cut him off, even if that’s not really the word for this. “I mean, we’ll get to that later. Let’s just figure our way out of this.”
It’s not sweet, it shouldn’t be sweet. He can’t be thinking of me like that. Why would he, after my shitty breakup email?
My mind has at least two teaspoons worth of rationality left, and it’s enough for me to try to school my emotions, despite whatever my body is feeling. I take a moment to breathe and try to think through this.
The parking lot is on the other side of the building, and that’s where everyone will be gathering to go through the fire drill procedures while we wait for the firetruck. Below us is just the empty alleyway between the two office buildings. We’re maybe four stories off the ground. Still too high for my tastes.
In some attempt to not just be dangling in the wind, I try to wrap my legs around his incredibly broad waist. Even without being under the effects of the Fever, the movement is so familiar between us, it feels like home. Every part of my body that hadn’t been involved in panicking aches to remember that comfort, that tenderness.
And between us, his cock is trapped between my body and his.
“You need to stop sliding around,” he says, his voice low and a little wrecked.
My legs are only barely hooked around his middle as I’ve been trying to secure my safety. I may have not realized I was rubbing my body against his arousal.
I do not want to go back to Monsters Resources to explain this. Trying to do paperwork for this would just be mortifying.
The erection he’s sporting against me is enormous. My body responds to his, and, my heart is between my legs, heat spreading in my lower belly as the need to be taken right here against the brick, stories off the ground, unfurls within me. The fleeting wonder if anyone across the way in the other office building will see us makes my nipples tighten.
Oh Evil Overlord, I’m so far gone.
It’s actually insane how this wave of hormones completely wipes away my survival instinct. Getting dicked down on the side of the building? How do female Orcs survive this process? Scratch that, how does anyone?
“The ground. I’d like to be standing on solid ground,” I manage after a moment. “I have to be present for my floor’s roll call.”
Khent nods. I brace myself for more of that stomach turning movement as he reaches to climb down, and bury my face in his shoulder. One breath is enough to make me forget the peril of our current position. I don’t know how to describe scents like some kind of smell-sommelier, but it’s all I ever want to breathe in ever again. This is what all men’s scented deodorants should aspire to.
Holding him makes all the stress of the past weeks melt away. How could I have ever thought he’d be willing to hurt me the way James did?
Khent takes one step, or reach or whatever, and stiffens, and I think I know why. Now that I’m aware of how my cunt is all but pressed to the outline of his cock, every little shift in movement grinds our NSFW bits together.
If I could spare a hand from being clutched around his neck, I might just try to unzip him here. The sex against a brick wall might be worth the bruises and scrapes alone.
I realize then that I can’t blame the Blood Fever’s for the unhinged idea, it’s just me, Unhinged Janice, with her fucking off the wall wants.
“I’m sorry–” he starts to say.
“No, it’s ok,” I try to cut him off.
“No, it’s not. You don’t want this,” he says.
The friction is sweet and teasing, and agonizing in how much more I want. But I know he means I don’t want this entanglement between us, this messy, against-company-policy relationship.
His jaw tightens and works as he holds still and climbs down a little more, to stop again. His head tilts back and I can see him fighting the pleasure.
His brow furrows and he shakes his head at himself, before pressing on.
“I feel terrible that I want you so much, but you don’t seem to want that and I’m pressuring you and spilling my feelings and you don’t need this crap right now.”
He looks away from me, but I still catch the angst in his face. It’s a reflection of what I’ve been essentially broadcasting since that first MR meeting, and every word of it he returns to me is a needle through my heart.
“But I want it anyway.”
I feel his entire being still at that. He doesn’t look back at me though.
The need to tell him everything starts welling up in my chest, my throat. Admitting that was like turning on the faucet to everything in me I was brushing off and shoving aside.
“I’m sorry I freaked out and hurt you. I got scared everything was going to blow up in my face and this time it was really going to hurt because I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” I babble out. “And I thought it would be safer if I ended things. But I was wrong. Not being with you was so much worse.”
I almost cringe at saying I’ve fallen in love, but he just called me his mate so I don’t think it’s too weird to be bringing that word into this now.
“I need to stop stepping on your feelings to preserve my own. Because that doesn’t get us anywhere. I don’t want to hurt you, ever again.”
I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe me. I’ve been so back and forth, so wishy-washy over this whole mating thing. I can’t expect him to be all-in again after how I’ve behaved.
I feel him shift a little, and then he’s freed one hand to tentatively curl around my back, holding me to him.
“Where does that leave us?”
“Well, if you’ll let me,” I say, and take a deep breath before I meet his eyes. “I’m going to break your nose again.”
