Working Late Tonight?

“Palmer? Are you sick or something?” Haskins stopped on his way back to his own cubicle to stare into John’s.

“What?” John snapped, glancing over his shoulder to glare at his co-worker.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Haskins demanded, “Where are you going? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

“What the hell are you on about, Haskins?” John really didn’t want to chat. He had better things to do with his time. Like think about last night…

+++

“I want you!”

“Yes!”

“Now!”

“Yes! Right now!”

+++

“Well, you are either sick or you’ve got another job!” Haskins insisted, “I haven’t seen the surface of your desk since you started here and now look at it!”

+++

Hard edge pressing against his thighs… Solid surface under his back…

+++

John obediently turned back to look at his desk, trying to hide a guilty wince. The expanse of light oak coloured laminate was dazzling in the bright fluorescent lights of the office. John had to admit that he had forgotten what the surface of his desk looked like, it had been so long since he had seen it.

+++

Shoving things aside to get space, panting breaths and moans punctuated by the sound of pens and office junk falling to the floor.

+++

“What have you done with all your paperwork?” Haskins stepped closer and peered suspiciously at the neatly stacked file trays and their orderly contents.

+++

Paper crinkling and crunching as it slid and crumpled beneath their bodies.

+++

“Oh.” John could feel his face heating. “I got fed up with the mess. So I stayed late last night and sorted it out a bit.”

+++

“Yes… harder… faster! There! Right there! Yes! I’m gonna… ngh…”

+++

“A bit? You must have been here all night! What have you done with it all?” Haskins reached towards John’s pedestal drawers and John blocked the move with a quick shift of his chair.

+++

“You got anything-?”

“Yeah. In the drawer. Hurry!”

+++

“I filed most of it,” John muttered, thinking of the three bags of trash he had wrestled down to the dumpster. “Haven’t you got any work to do, Haskins?”

+++

“Shit! The Perkins contract is ruined.”

“Turn around. Yeah. You’ve got old man Perkins’ signature right across your ass.”

+++

“I’ve got plenty,” Haskins poked the surface of the desk, his finger skidding across the freshly polished surface. “This isn’t natural. You want some of my stuff to cover it up?”

+++

“Here. This spray should work. You can’t leave a big ass-shaped sticky patch right there!”

+++

“No!” John glared at his nosey co-worker and wondered just what Haskins would say if he told him why the desk was so clear and clean.

+++

Things crashed to the floor unheeded as their mouths fought hotly and hands ripped desperately at clothes to find the smooth, slick skin beneath.

+++

Haskins’ pre-occupation with John’s desk was drawing attention and a small crowd began to form. John wanted to scream or throw things but had to field the smart ass comments as best he could.

“Palmer’s got a desk?”

“I thought that was just a desk shaped heap of files!”

“Look! Real artificial wood!”

“Hey! It even matches the rest of the office furniture. I thought it might have been something from when they built the place.”

“Be careful! It might crumble into dust now it’s exposed to sunlight!”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” John glared at them all, “Haven’t you people got anything better to do?”

+++

Bodies straining together…

+++

“It is unnatural,” Haskins said mournfully as he, finally, made his way back to his own desk.

The rest of the crowd drifted away and John rolled his eyes in relief. He refused to look across the way at Simon. This was all his fault. And sitting over there killing himself laughing while John tried to get rid of the crowd hadn’t helped at all. Simon would be smirking now, John just knew it, but he wasn’t going to look. Instead he stared at the googly-eyed Rudolf Christmas card from Lisa in the post room.

+++

He was sure that his eyes were twitching and rolling just like the stupid reindeer card hanging drunkenly from his file trays. Every powerful thrust nailed his sweet spot and made his body, and the cubicle walls, shake; made his eyes roll loosely in his head; made the sleigh bells in Janine’s cubicle chime. He arched his back and met each thrust as best he could. His arm flailed as he tried to find some purchase and the file trays crashed to the floor, taking the weird reindeer with them.

+++

“Ready for lunch, Palmer?” Simon sauntered over and smirked at him, reaching out to tap Rudolf and make his eyes jiggle, “You’re looking a bit tired, all that tidying up must have worn you out!”

+++

“I can’t get the stains off the cubicle wall!”

“Here, pin the Christmas cards over them.”

+++

“Lunch sounds good.” John stood up and stretched, smirking himself as Simon’s eyes ran helplessly over his body. “I’m pretty hungry today, for some reason. Clearing my desk was hard work, obviously.”

+++

One sweep of the arm to send files flying, paper spilling across the floor…

+++

“Mm. Must have taken you hours of effort,” Simon slanted him a look as they made their way through the maze of cubicles.

+++

Breath sawing in the throat, emerging in panting grunts and moans…

+++

“Yeah. I worked up quite a sweat,” John smirked back.

+++

Skin slapping and sticking, hands slipping on sweat-slick muscles, the taste of salt on the tongue…

+++

“You working late tonight?” Simon bumped shoulders with John as they walked down the corridor.

“Maybe. You?” John looked at Simon from the corner of his eye and grinned.

“I could be persuaded…” Simon grinned back.

“Your desk this time,” John muttered as they left the building.

“But yours is already tidy!” Simon protested, “It won’t take us half as long to clear up tonight if we use yours!”

“But yours hasn’t got Rudolf watching!” John bumped shoulders with Simon and they both laughed.

The End

 

Disclaimer: All stories on this site are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of any story found on this site may be reproduced or reposted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

© Copyright Mara Ismine 2007

 

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