![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
myficsTitle: the lies we tell (to make it through)
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing: Dwight Schrute/Jim Halpert, secondary Dwight Schrute/Angela Martin & Jim Halpert/Karen Filippelli
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,933
Disclaimer: NBC, Greg Daniels, etc own The Office. Not for profit.
Summary: Dwight masturbates in the men's room at work. Jim overhears.
Written For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
823freckles.
Dwight had never thought of a person's ass as 'fuckable.' After all, vaginas and penises are made for fucking, while asses are made for...well, other things. So for the first thirty years of his life, Dwight gave no thoughts to asses in regards to sex. That is, until he met Jim.
Michael had asked Dwight to train the new salesman that day, a responsibility which Dwight took very seriously. People could say what they wanted about every employee being but a cog in a larger machine and how each was necessary, but Dwight knew that a customer service team was useless unless they actually had customers to service. It was up to the salesmen to keep the company afloat, and Dwight was very concerned with doing just that.
It had been a fairly normal morning until Jim Halpert showed up. He didn't dress as nicely as Dwight did. That was the first thing Dwight noticed. He wore no suit jacket, and his tie was askew. He spoke quietly with the receptionist, Pam, for a moment, then she led him over to the desk next to Dwight's. As he turned to inspect his new work area, Dwight took notice of Jim's ass for the first time.
By the time Jim sat down in his chair and introduced himself, Dwight was thanking Thor that Jim didn't wear a suit jacket because covering up that ass would surely be criminal.
"Hi," Jim had said as he held out his hand for Dwight to shake. "I'm Jim."
"Dwight Schrute," Dwight answered and shook the proffered hand. It was warm and soft and not at all like Dwight thought another man's hand should feel like. It disturbed him.
Jim's initiation had…not gone well. And the prank he played on Dwight in retaliation was…not acceptable. Dwight needed to teach Jim a lesson, obviously. He seemed to not realize that he was being groomed by the best salesman in the company and should be very grateful that Dwight had taken such an interest in him.
Dwight had thought that eventually Jim would learn to accept his leadership.
He hadn't.
***
Angela says that a man is not supposed to spill his seed on the ground, but what Angela doesn't know won't hurt her, Dwight supposes. Besides, if she knew what he was thinking about as he spilled his seed, he doubts that masturbation would be her biggest worry. She'd probably try to send him to one of those deprogramming facilities called Camp Happy Paths or something.
Dwight Schrute is not gay. Not even a little bit. He never thinks of being with men in a romantic way, only a sexual way, and even then, it's only Jim. And Jim has very feminine qualities about him, anyway. He's very sensitive.
Todd Packer seems to think Jim is gay, and Dwight once heard Roy say he thought so, too. Dwight wouldn't doubt it if he was. Then again, Dwight's the one with his hand down his pants in the men's restroom at work just because Jim bent over to pick up a pencil five minutes ago, so. There's that.
It's not even all of him that Dwight's attracted to. He has no muscle definition, his height is bothersome, and his face is nothing to write home about. It's just his ass. If there was an ass hall of fame, it would be the first inductee.
So Dwight doesn't really think it's all that weird that he's jerking off thinking about Jim Halpert's ass. It's more the ass he's attracted to than Jim, anyway. The ass can't help it if it's attached to Dwight's worst, very male, enemy.
Masturbation at work is a grave offense, and under any normal circumstances Dwight would not condone it. But the problem was that once Jim bent over, Dwight got a very distracting erection, and he couldn't concentrate on his work because of it. Therefore, the only way to return to his normal rate of productivity was to get rid of the erection. It's simple economics, really.
Jim has always been a difficult person to work with; his insubordination is practically legendary around Dwight's beet farm. Dwight could probably fuck some good behavior into him, though. He couldn't concentrate on pranking and annoying Dwight with a cock up his ass, now could he?
That's the image in Dwight's mind: Jim Halpert, naked from the waist down, bent over a table in the break room with his ass in the air, just waiting for Dwight to fuck it. Dwight wouldn't at first, oh no. Dwight wouldn't give Jim what he wanted that easily. He'd make Jim writhe, make him beg. The first time in five years that Jim would recognize Dwight's authority over him.
He swipes his thumb across the head of his cock and bites down on his free hand to stifle the gasp that bubbles up in his throat. This is wrong, this is so very, very wrong, but Dwight knows that finishing himself off quickly is for the good of the company. He twists his wrist on the upstroke and presses his fingers against the vein on the underside of his cock, represses a violent shiver.
"Please, Dwight," Fantasy Jim whines, stupid floppy hair hanging down in his eyes as he stares up into Dwight's face.
Fantasy Dwight has no pity for him, just as Real Jim has no pity for Real Dwight. "Please what?"
"Please, fuck me."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Fantasy Jim moans in response, fingers curling around the edge of the table.
Dwight groans in response to the image, can almost hear Jim's whimpers as he begs for Dwight's cock.
"Why should I fuck you?" Fantasy Dwight asks. "Why should I do anything to help you? You certainly haven't done anything to help me, your immediate superior."
"I'm sorry," Jim pants. "I'm sorry, Dwight. You're right, you're my superior. In every way. I'm sorry. Please."
Real Dwight knows that this scenario would never happen, that Jim would never admit what he must know, deep down, but he doesn't care.
"That's right," Fantasy Dwight says with a smirk. "I am your superior."
"I know. You are. Please, Dwight. Please fuck me."
And Fantasy Dwight does, because he's always had a little more compassion than Real Dwight. And anyway, he's only Fantasy Human, he can't be expected to resist Jim's ass much longer, even if it is fictional.
Dwight groans and whimpers, "Jim," as he comes, practically feeling Jim's ass around his cock instead of his own fist. He slumps against the wall as he unrolls enough toilet paper to clean up the mess, panting and gasping for breath. His own breathing is so loud that he almost doesn't hear the bathroom door opening and shutting. His heart leaps into his throat, but when he steps outside of the stall he finds the restroom empty, so he decides it must've been his own, obviously over-active, imagination.
***
Jim glances up at the boom mic over his head and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"Go ahead," the cameraman says to him kindly, and presses a button on the camera.
"Um, yeah. So Dwight said my name while he was masturbating in the men's room," Jim says, turning his head to the side and resting it against the palm of one hand.
"And how do you feel about that?" the cameraman whispers.
"How do I feel about that?" Jim repeats. He's a little affronted that they even have to ask. "Honestly, I don't know which is worse, that Dwight was jerking off in the men's room or that he was doing it while thinking about me." He frowns as he tries to put his thoughts together. "Does it make me sound crazy if I say that the idea of Dwight being anything other than asexual is worse than him being…Jim-sexual?" When the cameraman says nothing, Jim nods. "I thought it did."
He shifts again in his chair and glances over his shoulder. Behind him he can see Stanley on the phone and Karen tapping her pencil against her desk. Phyllis sits opposite Stanley playing solitaire at her computer. He knows that if he craned his neck just a bit he could see Dwight sitting behind her, probably tapping all his bobbleheads at once or planning something else to annoy Jim this afternoon.
"Do you think Dwight might have feelings for you?" the cameraman prompts quietly, and presses the zoom button.
Jim swallows roughly as he tries to think up a good answer for that. Is this why Dwight saved him from Roy? He's finally forced to admit, "Yes."
The cameraman motions with his free hand the signal for continue.
"He probably does," Jim elaborates. "It would make a lot of sense."
The cameraman's redheaded assistant smiles and holds up a piece of paper that says, "And do you have feelings for him?" on it. Her crimson nails remind Jim of wicked witches in fairy tales.
He's unable to stop the laughter that bubbles up in his throat at her question. "The only feeling I have for Dwight is revulsion. Occasionally annoyance."
She frowns and looks genuinely disappointed, and Jim seriously wonders about the lives of the documentary crew that's been following his every move for the past two and a half years, but doesn't say anything.
The cameraman turns off the camera and the mic operator lowers the boom, and Jim takes it as his cue to leave.
When he sits back down at his desk, Dwight is looking at something on his computer screen and taking diligent notes.
"What are you reading?" Jim asks, mostly because anything that Dwight finds so interesting is bound to provide endless opportunities for mocking, and Jim feels the insane need to assert the rigidity of their dynamic.
"Business-comma-none of your," Dwight replies, taking more notes still.
Jim rises from his seat enough to peer at Dwight's screen, and his stomach lurches as he notices that Dwight's eyes flicker to his ass for a split second.
"Dwight, why are you on a website about religion?" he asks as he sits back down. For once, he's honestly perplexed rather than amused by Dwight's odd habits.
"My girlfriend happens to believe strongly in it," Dwight says. "And when a man courts a lady, he takes up her interests to be closer to her." His eyes don't waver off the paper before him, but Jim knows where his mind has turned.
The thought of Dwight and Angela doing...well, anything together has creeped him out ever since the day he saw them kiss, but he can't deny that it's almost sort of…sweet in a bizarre way that Dwight would take up studying Christianity for her. He's never known Dwight to speak of religion at all except once to say that he thought the "god monsters" of the Hindu religion were cool.
But now that Jim thinks about it, things are starting to make more sense to him. Whatever Dwight was doing in the men's room that required all that groaning and moaning, it obviously wasn't masturbation. Jim's mind must've been playing tricks on him. So him saying Jim's name had nothing to do with imagined romantic feelings at all, and he wasn't looking at Jim's ass earlier with anything other than disgust in his eyes.
Dwight hates Jim. Jim hates Dwight.
It's simple. Almost poetic, really. Their mutual animosity is the one constant thing that Jim can count on at Dunder Mifflin. It's just the status quo, really.
Jim laughs at his own imagination and decides that it's time to sell some paper.
Fandom: The Office (US)
Pairing: Dwight Schrute/Jim Halpert, secondary Dwight Schrute/Angela Martin & Jim Halpert/Karen Filippelli
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,933
Disclaimer: NBC, Greg Daniels, etc own The Office. Not for profit.
Summary: Dwight masturbates in the men's room at work. Jim overhears.
Written For:
823freckles.Dwight had never thought of a person's ass as 'fuckable.' After all, vaginas and penises are made for fucking, while asses are made for...well, other things. So for the first thirty years of his life, Dwight gave no thoughts to asses in regards to sex. That is, until he met Jim.
Michael had asked Dwight to train the new salesman that day, a responsibility which Dwight took very seriously. People could say what they wanted about every employee being but a cog in a larger machine and how each was necessary, but Dwight knew that a customer service team was useless unless they actually had customers to service. It was up to the salesmen to keep the company afloat, and Dwight was very concerned with doing just that.
It had been a fairly normal morning until Jim Halpert showed up. He didn't dress as nicely as Dwight did. That was the first thing Dwight noticed. He wore no suit jacket, and his tie was askew. He spoke quietly with the receptionist, Pam, for a moment, then she led him over to the desk next to Dwight's. As he turned to inspect his new work area, Dwight took notice of Jim's ass for the first time.
By the time Jim sat down in his chair and introduced himself, Dwight was thanking Thor that Jim didn't wear a suit jacket because covering up that ass would surely be criminal.
"Hi," Jim had said as he held out his hand for Dwight to shake. "I'm Jim."
"Dwight Schrute," Dwight answered and shook the proffered hand. It was warm and soft and not at all like Dwight thought another man's hand should feel like. It disturbed him.
Jim's initiation had…not gone well. And the prank he played on Dwight in retaliation was…not acceptable. Dwight needed to teach Jim a lesson, obviously. He seemed to not realize that he was being groomed by the best salesman in the company and should be very grateful that Dwight had taken such an interest in him.
Dwight had thought that eventually Jim would learn to accept his leadership.
He hadn't.
Angela says that a man is not supposed to spill his seed on the ground, but what Angela doesn't know won't hurt her, Dwight supposes. Besides, if she knew what he was thinking about as he spilled his seed, he doubts that masturbation would be her biggest worry. She'd probably try to send him to one of those deprogramming facilities called Camp Happy Paths or something.
Dwight Schrute is not gay. Not even a little bit. He never thinks of being with men in a romantic way, only a sexual way, and even then, it's only Jim. And Jim has very feminine qualities about him, anyway. He's very sensitive.
Todd Packer seems to think Jim is gay, and Dwight once heard Roy say he thought so, too. Dwight wouldn't doubt it if he was. Then again, Dwight's the one with his hand down his pants in the men's restroom at work just because Jim bent over to pick up a pencil five minutes ago, so. There's that.
It's not even all of him that Dwight's attracted to. He has no muscle definition, his height is bothersome, and his face is nothing to write home about. It's just his ass. If there was an ass hall of fame, it would be the first inductee.
So Dwight doesn't really think it's all that weird that he's jerking off thinking about Jim Halpert's ass. It's more the ass he's attracted to than Jim, anyway. The ass can't help it if it's attached to Dwight's worst, very male, enemy.
Masturbation at work is a grave offense, and under any normal circumstances Dwight would not condone it. But the problem was that once Jim bent over, Dwight got a very distracting erection, and he couldn't concentrate on his work because of it. Therefore, the only way to return to his normal rate of productivity was to get rid of the erection. It's simple economics, really.
Jim has always been a difficult person to work with; his insubordination is practically legendary around Dwight's beet farm. Dwight could probably fuck some good behavior into him, though. He couldn't concentrate on pranking and annoying Dwight with a cock up his ass, now could he?
That's the image in Dwight's mind: Jim Halpert, naked from the waist down, bent over a table in the break room with his ass in the air, just waiting for Dwight to fuck it. Dwight wouldn't at first, oh no. Dwight wouldn't give Jim what he wanted that easily. He'd make Jim writhe, make him beg. The first time in five years that Jim would recognize Dwight's authority over him.
He swipes his thumb across the head of his cock and bites down on his free hand to stifle the gasp that bubbles up in his throat. This is wrong, this is so very, very wrong, but Dwight knows that finishing himself off quickly is for the good of the company. He twists his wrist on the upstroke and presses his fingers against the vein on the underside of his cock, represses a violent shiver.
"Please, Dwight," Fantasy Jim whines, stupid floppy hair hanging down in his eyes as he stares up into Dwight's face.
Fantasy Dwight has no pity for him, just as Real Jim has no pity for Real Dwight. "Please what?"
"Please, fuck me."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Fantasy Jim moans in response, fingers curling around the edge of the table.
Dwight groans in response to the image, can almost hear Jim's whimpers as he begs for Dwight's cock.
"Why should I fuck you?" Fantasy Dwight asks. "Why should I do anything to help you? You certainly haven't done anything to help me, your immediate superior."
"I'm sorry," Jim pants. "I'm sorry, Dwight. You're right, you're my superior. In every way. I'm sorry. Please."
Real Dwight knows that this scenario would never happen, that Jim would never admit what he must know, deep down, but he doesn't care.
"That's right," Fantasy Dwight says with a smirk. "I am your superior."
"I know. You are. Please, Dwight. Please fuck me."
And Fantasy Dwight does, because he's always had a little more compassion than Real Dwight. And anyway, he's only Fantasy Human, he can't be expected to resist Jim's ass much longer, even if it is fictional.
Dwight groans and whimpers, "Jim," as he comes, practically feeling Jim's ass around his cock instead of his own fist. He slumps against the wall as he unrolls enough toilet paper to clean up the mess, panting and gasping for breath. His own breathing is so loud that he almost doesn't hear the bathroom door opening and shutting. His heart leaps into his throat, but when he steps outside of the stall he finds the restroom empty, so he decides it must've been his own, obviously over-active, imagination.
Jim glances up at the boom mic over his head and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"Go ahead," the cameraman says to him kindly, and presses a button on the camera.
"Um, yeah. So Dwight said my name while he was masturbating in the men's room," Jim says, turning his head to the side and resting it against the palm of one hand.
"And how do you feel about that?" the cameraman whispers.
"How do I feel about that?" Jim repeats. He's a little affronted that they even have to ask. "Honestly, I don't know which is worse, that Dwight was jerking off in the men's room or that he was doing it while thinking about me." He frowns as he tries to put his thoughts together. "Does it make me sound crazy if I say that the idea of Dwight being anything other than asexual is worse than him being…Jim-sexual?" When the cameraman says nothing, Jim nods. "I thought it did."
He shifts again in his chair and glances over his shoulder. Behind him he can see Stanley on the phone and Karen tapping her pencil against her desk. Phyllis sits opposite Stanley playing solitaire at her computer. He knows that if he craned his neck just a bit he could see Dwight sitting behind her, probably tapping all his bobbleheads at once or planning something else to annoy Jim this afternoon.
"Do you think Dwight might have feelings for you?" the cameraman prompts quietly, and presses the zoom button.
Jim swallows roughly as he tries to think up a good answer for that. Is this why Dwight saved him from Roy? He's finally forced to admit, "Yes."
The cameraman motions with his free hand the signal for continue.
"He probably does," Jim elaborates. "It would make a lot of sense."
The cameraman's redheaded assistant smiles and holds up a piece of paper that says, "And do you have feelings for him?" on it. Her crimson nails remind Jim of wicked witches in fairy tales.
He's unable to stop the laughter that bubbles up in his throat at her question. "The only feeling I have for Dwight is revulsion. Occasionally annoyance."
She frowns and looks genuinely disappointed, and Jim seriously wonders about the lives of the documentary crew that's been following his every move for the past two and a half years, but doesn't say anything.
The cameraman turns off the camera and the mic operator lowers the boom, and Jim takes it as his cue to leave.
When he sits back down at his desk, Dwight is looking at something on his computer screen and taking diligent notes.
"What are you reading?" Jim asks, mostly because anything that Dwight finds so interesting is bound to provide endless opportunities for mocking, and Jim feels the insane need to assert the rigidity of their dynamic.
"Business-comma-none of your," Dwight replies, taking more notes still.
Jim rises from his seat enough to peer at Dwight's screen, and his stomach lurches as he notices that Dwight's eyes flicker to his ass for a split second.
"Dwight, why are you on a website about religion?" he asks as he sits back down. For once, he's honestly perplexed rather than amused by Dwight's odd habits.
"My girlfriend happens to believe strongly in it," Dwight says. "And when a man courts a lady, he takes up her interests to be closer to her." His eyes don't waver off the paper before him, but Jim knows where his mind has turned.
The thought of Dwight and Angela doing...well, anything together has creeped him out ever since the day he saw them kiss, but he can't deny that it's almost sort of…sweet in a bizarre way that Dwight would take up studying Christianity for her. He's never known Dwight to speak of religion at all except once to say that he thought the "god monsters" of the Hindu religion were cool.
But now that Jim thinks about it, things are starting to make more sense to him. Whatever Dwight was doing in the men's room that required all that groaning and moaning, it obviously wasn't masturbation. Jim's mind must've been playing tricks on him. So him saying Jim's name had nothing to do with imagined romantic feelings at all, and he wasn't looking at Jim's ass earlier with anything other than disgust in his eyes.
Dwight hates Jim. Jim hates Dwight.
It's simple. Almost poetic, really. Their mutual animosity is the one constant thing that Jim can count on at Dunder Mifflin. It's just the status quo, really.
Jim laughs at his own imagination and decides that it's time to sell some paper.
