What happened this morning has been weighing on my chest ever since I got back to my desk. Normally I would have told Lily all about it during our lunch break. After all the shit I’ve (lovingly) given her for her mishaps at work, I’m sure would be thrilled to hear about me messing up for once. Sadly for me, Lily isn’t here. She’s gone along on a work trip with our boss, which, —considering their relationship, —is probably going to be more about destroying hotel rooms than it will be about work. Can’t wait to explain the charges to accounting.
I’m not bitter about it or anything. That whole ordeal was just kind of stressful to watch from the sidelines. She’s worked here longer than I have, but she’s a bit younger and more easily influenced. I often worry about how badly the whole dating your boss thing could have gone for her, and it just reaffirms everything being in HR has taught me: office relationships are bad news.
Honestly, I’m just glad it worked out for her, because sex rituals with the CEO is out of my jurisdiction.
Breaking noses wasn’t really in my jurisdiction either. I mean, maybe it is, but I haven’t had to deal with something like this before.
I need to stop cowering in my office. I need to go out and apologize, but the memory of the whole thing is making me cringe. I’ve stood up twice in the last ten minutes just to turn around immediately and sit back down.
Maybe I can just send him a card. ‘Sorry about your nose.’
That option’s not exactly dripping with sympathy, but I don’t think I’m capable of writing anything even slightly outside of HR speak.
I take down my bun and redo it for the fourth time today; something to do with the anxious energy buzzing in my limbs. The complaints my scalp would make go unheard.
Maybe I can just bury myself in my job and pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe it’ll just fade into the background and the constant paperwork will stack over the memory of it.
Ugh, what is with me? Normally I’m the one coaching people through apologies and settling disputes between cubicle neighbors.
I grip the seat of my chair hard, until I can convince myself to push off and stand up. The third try gets me a little bit closer to the door.
I’ve got my hand on the doorknob, gripping it a lot harder than normally. If I let go I might just fly back to my chair, or under my desk even.
A knock startles me a step back.
“Ms. Kelsey?” a voice asks through the door, and I freeze.
It’s then that I notice the enormous shadow that’s fallen over the frosted glass of my door window.
“Y-yes?” I reply, my voice coming out a little strangled as I realize it’s him, the Orc from before. Fuck me, he’s come here to seek out an apology?
I’m not prepared for this. I need notecards and a little binder outlining the steps of what a satisfying apology looks like so I can check them off as I go, I need a powerpoint presentation to point out the steps I’ll take so that I never elbow another co-worker in the face again—
No, no. It’s an apology, not a meeting I’m presenting. A slideshow would be too much. But I would still like the notecards and binder.
After a few seconds of paralyzed worrying, I realize he knows my name. For some reason, that makes my heartrate pick up, maybe out of panic. Then I realize it’s probably because my name is on the door. Duh.
How did he know where to find me, though?
It doesn’t really matter. He deserves an apology for how I acted, no matter how weird I was feeling. I steel myself. Everyone deserves to be treated professionally within the workplace.
“I just wanted to—” he starts to say, interrupted by me yanking open the door. His eyes meet mine and he seems to forget anything he had to tell me. “I. Um. Well.”
I don’t really have any steps beyond that.
We stare at each in utter silence for several moments.
I don’t think his nose looks broken. Bruised maybe, with the slightly darker green flushed over it, but Orc noses have such a variety of shapes and crooks and slants, and sometimes even ridges, that I’m not sure I could identify a broken nose on him. It’s not bleeding anymore and it doesn’t look wildly out of place.
Heat sweeps up my face and spine at seeing him. I don’t think I noticed before how perfectly chiseled his jawline is, the way it’s shaped for his tusks. The way the thickness of his furrowed eyebrows fucking dazzles me, it’s almost absurd. I think I’m starting to get dizzy just from how lost in them I am.
We’ve both been quiet for far too long.
“Um. Hi,” I say, reaching desperately for anything more graceful than ‘I can’t tell if your nose is alright or not’. “You found me.”
I try to notice things about him that aren’t just his looks. Example: how the blood that had run down his chin before is cleaned up.
Then I see the tape on the bridge of his glasses that wasn’t there before, right above the new bandage on his nose.
I broke his glasses when I elbowed him in the face.
FUCK.
I’m going to need to replace his glasses.
For half a moment, my HR brain snaps into place. I take in a breath to offer my apologies, for the nose, for the glasses, for the pathetic paper towel pass. As soon as I do though, my jaw clenches shut and I stiffen.
That feeling is back, rolling through me with a determination to make my knees buckle. I take a few steps backwards and lean back against my desk, gripping its edge for support.
The movement startles him out of our staring contest. He shakes himself, and blinks a few times. He takes off his glasses and pretends to clean them, despite them being spotless, a cover for the fact he’s talking to my shoes again.
“I just wanted to check that you were alright,” he says gently, like hitting his nose wasn’t that big a deal. “How’s your elbow?”
I make a kind of weird, shrieky-laugh.
Normally, Lily is the only person who’s heard it, because she can make me laugh and choke on my drink easily. Most people can’t make me laugh. But standing in his presence makes me feel all kinds of weird, unhinged things. The sheer absurdity of this situation is getting to me.
For a moment I think about telling him, actually, no, I’m not alright. I think I’m having the weirdest fever or whatever of my life. Maybe he could call my mom for me. No, that’s weird.
I clear my throat. “Peachy-keen.”
He nods, his expression like he doesn’t quite believe me.
That’s fair. I wouldn’t believe me either. My only consolation is that this will hopefully all be over shortly and I’ll probably never see him again.
“That’s good to hear. Uh, I’m Khent,” he offers, his voice so soft and low it almost doesn’t seem possible to have come from him.
“Janice. Nice to meet you,” I say, and my voice cracks a little in the middle of my own name. I put a hand over my mouth and cough to clear my throat. “You’re, uh, in accounting?”
He shakes his head the barest amount, eyes trained on me. “Oh, IT Department.”
The all-over heat is back, along with the intense horniness. I’m just hoping he can’t see how hard my nipples are right now. This bra hasn’t always been the best for that.
I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. I flash an attempt at a friendly smile. “Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone from IT. In the flesh.”
It’s true, but I don’t know why I said it like that.
No. I do. It’s because I’m eyeing the way the breadth of his shoulders is as wide as some couches. My gaze keeps traveling down the buttons on his shirt one by one, and I have to pinch myself to flick my eyes back up each time I hit his belt buckle.
Ogling the shape of his pants in front of him, after I’ve beaten him up just seems like a bad idea, but I can’t stop. My sense of composure is melting under my own body temperature.
Could I have— no, actually, it’s too ridiculous to even consider. Humans don’t go into heat.
Khent’s standing in my doorway, with no apparent intent to cross the threshold, his hand holding onto the doorjamb. I realize then his grip is splintering the wood, like he’s hanging onto it for dear life.
He’s starting to breathe more heavily too, sweat beading on his skin. I watch him tug on the constraints of his shirt collar. “Usually I’m down on the fourth floor, but I had to run some things upstairs earlier. Setting up some new equipment in a meeting room.”
I swallow once, maybe twice. Is it … possible that whatever fever I’ve got, could have spread to him too?
“And that’s how we bumped into each other,” I say, like it’s some kind of conclusion or explanation. It answers nothing, really.
Khent nods, our strange little non-apology of a conversation coming to an end.
My teeth worry into my lower lip. Just get this apology over with and then kick him out and lock the door. Then I can take care of this. Even the thought of being alone and finally able to touch myself makes my heart pound harder.
No, that’s insane. I can’t masturbate at work. In the HR office. Get a grip, Janice. And not on him, I try to tell myself. I cross my legs, squeezing them together for the barest amount of relief. Either my legs are really sweaty or I’m so wet it’s soaked through my underwear.
For a moment I think I see his nostrils flare or something. He starts to nod, and one of his buttons pops off his shirt due to how deeply he’s breathing.
It lands on the carpeted floor between us. I blink a few times.
“Oh. Um. I have some safety pins for when I lose buttons,” I say, turning around and rifling through a drawer. It’s something to take my mind off of the ever-growing need between my legs.
I cross my small office to him, reaching my arms up to stick the pin through the buttonhole, to close his shirt back up.
“Really, that’s alright,” he says, waving away my offer, but my fingers are already curling under the seam when the back of my knuckles graze his skin.
It’s not a spark, but there’s some kind of sensation that makes my chest jolt. Goosebumps rise up on my arms.
The touch of his skin is a powerful sensation. All my nerves seem to gather into that point of unmitigated contact between us. I don’t think I’ve ever been so acutely aware of what it’s like to touch someone.
The pin stays stuck in the fabric, whatever my intent was with it long gone. My hands fall from it, flattening out against his middle.
Before I can even think, my hands are drifting down his chest, opening up the rest of his shirt like mere curtains. His body is entirely bound in tight muscle and an unreal number of abs. My hands draw up his skin, tracing the cut of his hips. His breath catches on a note of want, and I move a hand to his arm, feeling the sheer amount of coiled strength. My fingers curl up in the fabric of his sleeve, separating me from him.
I want to pull his shirt all the way off, but the realization that I would probably need to stand on a chair to accomplish that much snaps me out of it.
I can’t believe I did that. That’s completely unlike me. But the need to touch and explore overwhelms every other sense I have. I feel the rise and fall of his chest against my palm, a sharp spike of temperature under my hands. There’s no question, he has this fever too.
It doesn’t make sense, but my head feels heavy and sluggish unreal against this. How could we both have come down with the same virus so quickly? And why is it making me horny? Fevers have never felt like this before.
As I continue to touch, to trace the shape of his torso, the heat of his skin melds with mine and makes a shiver roll through me.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I would never do something like this.
I push back from him, catching myself on the edge of my desk again.
A stronger wave of arousal hits me. I’ve never felt it like that, so all-encompassing that I almost forget where I am. Without thinking, without care, my hand goes straight to my legs to touch myself, to find some kind of relief.
Distantly, Normal Janice is shouting something about rules and professional environments.
I don’t know her anymore.
Pleasure grips my body with tension and I can’t stop stroking through the fabric, even though I know in the back of my head that this incident is at least a G-2B form filled out in triplicate, and two different interpersonal training sessions. No amount of paperwork is preventative enough.
Khent finally ducks through my doorway and is just towering as he stands to his full height. Something in his manner shifts. The way he holds himself, no longer attempting to minimize the space he takes up. He’s holding my stare now.
His shadow falls over me and all rational thought I have exits the building.
A low growl escapes him, the sound connecting immediately with my clit.
I’ve never whimpered before, but I think I just might have.
The meager stroking through my clothes is doing nothing for me. I fumble to open my pants, to make more room for my hands. When I find my clit, I can’t help but let out a hiss. Everything feels more sensitive than usual. I’m really wet, it’s practically a mess. I can’t even begin to think about the laundry I’ll need to do after. Every touch makes me need to bite my lip to keep from making noise.
His eyes darken behind his broken glasses as he stands back against the door. His pants don’t do anything to hide the intimidating bulge now straining against the fabric.
My fingers don’t stop working my clit, not for a second. He watches, his gaze sending a shiver down my shoulders.
Each step he takes towards me is deliberate and slow. There’s plenty of time to get up and leave if I wanted to, but I don’t. I’m more interested in sizing up the girth of his cock through his pants. If I wasn’t busy already, I’d probably be climbing him like a tree.
His silent gaze holds mine as he stops before me, kneeling down so that we’re on sort of the same level.
My heart is thudding in my chest. He reaches a hand out and grazes it against my ankle. The warmth of his hands alters something in me, maybe my sense of propriety.
His glance goes from my ankle, up my leg, back to my eyes.
I want more of his touch, in any capacity. In this moment I desperately want it. I nod.
He kneels down before my spread legs, drawing his touch from my ankle up my leg and inner thigh, easing down my dress pants. I worry my teeth into my lower lip.
After a moment’s hesitation, he presses a thick finger inside me. I let out a gasp, because even though his fingers are about as thick as some of my smaller toys, it’s still not enough. The pleasure that rolls through me from that one touch is overwhelming.
He removes the hand, breaking a string of my wetness as he brings it up to his mouth. His dark eyes stare down mine as he draws his tongue over his finger to taste me. I can’t help but moan.
Feverishly, I nod. I want whatever he’s asking to do.
His enormous hands curl around my hips and push me back on my desk, as he bends forwards to meet his mouth against my sex and I can’t help but cry out. His mouth is so warm, and his hands are so hot against me, gripped around my thighs as he drags his tongue over me, from cunt to clit. Oh Evil Overlord, I am very much here for this.
His tongue doesn’t feel the way human tongue does against me. I can’t quite place what it does feel like. There’s a ridged texture along the tip that stops my ability to think in its tracks whenever he passes over my clit.
His movements against me are greedy and ravenous, tasting everything. My hands delve into his hair and curl into fistfuls to anchor him there because I don’t think I ever want him to get up. I want to live in only this moment. I can’t believe I ran out of the storage room earlier and nearly missed this.
He groans and stiffens for a moment, his fingers digging bruises into my ass, before he shudders. All the while he never stops, his large, hot, ridged tongue working in and out of me between sucking my clit. I try to lift my head to peek up at him. Did he just cum? The thought barely registers before a wave of pleasure overtakes me and an orgasm shudders through me, and I’m convulsing against his tongue.
Around this point at home, I would have clicked off my vibrator and been done. But he keeps going, dragging out my climax. All I can do mid-orgasm is gasp for air and whimper. My hips buck violently into his mouth, and thank fuck his tusks are relatively blunt.
“Shhhh. Shush. Shh,” is the best I can manage to say, because my brain has misplaced the word ‘Stop’. I feel like I can’t move now, my body has been completely rocked to the core. Every additional stroke makes me twitch and moan again.
I have just enough sense to yank up on his chin. I find my foot to prod at his shoulder. That makes him back away.
With my clit this sensitive from his licking, I feel like I might come again just from his breath ghosting over the wet mess of my cunt.
My grip loosens on Khent’s hair and it slides out of my grip. He pulls back, all tall, dark and green, watching me.
Suddenly we’re not the only beings in the world anymore, consumed by some weird feral haze. We’re just coworkers again.
I’m sure I still look bewildered, looking back at him.
I don’t have questions.
It’s more of just one question, ‘what?’ Only with a thousand more question marks after it.
Specifically, it’s a Windows 98 error noise. Just repeated over and over. I can’t think of how to ask anything more specific, because I can’t imagine what the answers could possibly be.
The feverish need to get railed has quieted to a dull sensation.
Even without being overcome with sensation, my brain stalls and stutters. Everything I observe or think is met with a flat ‘no’, but simultaneously my mind refuses to provide another explanation for what is going on.
My office looks pretty normal to me. Khent is fixing his popped button with the safety pin. He isn’t breathing as heavily as he was before either, no longer taxing the tensile strength of his shirt.
I kind of look at myself, sprawled out over my desk, pants half off and my cunt a wet mess of his efforts.
Somehow I find my voice and stutter until words form. Most of them are useless.
“Um. Hi. Oh, wow. Ok. Hello. Can you, like, hand a girl a towel? I don’t think I can process anything unless I get dressed again,” I ramble. “You said you were from the IT Department?”
Khent slowly nods. “Yeah. Fourth floor.”
“Well, this is the sixth floor,” I point out, because pointing out he’s on the wrong floor is easier than dealing with whatever just happened. I just have to be correct about something right now.
My eyes dip down to where his staggering boner had been before, and the lack of a cum stain on his pants is gas lighting me. He must have some pretty stellar underwear on, I’m honestly kind of annoyed by it.
Khent pauses his search for something resembling a towel in my office, glancing back to me in what can only be described as sheepish. “Yeah, about that … I need you to come to Monster Resources with me.”
