“ DON’T HAVE TO BE THE PERFECT TEN FOR US TO BE MORE THAN FRIENDS ” — indy.
MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: kinktober. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship: coworkers to lovers ノ size difference ノ smoking: nic ノ hair pulling (m receiving) ノ sexual content: p in v stuff, just the tip ノ dirty talk: mild degradation.
You hear the familiar jangle of COWORKER!INDY’s chains, swinging against his black baggy jeans as he approaches you from behind. “You good?” he asks you, and you face him just as you finish your task.
“Yeah, sorry. Should’ve said something.” you reply, and he nods, throwing up a thumbs-up before turning on his heel once you confirmed you don’t need his help anymore. Your lips press together as you watch him, and he pulls up his sagging pants from under his zip-up, flashing you a glimpse of his black boxers. Tilting your head, you’re not subtle in checking him out.
You’ve been working with Indy for a while, and you’ve found that you fit well with his easygoing nature. He’s not your boss but he’s been here longer than you, so you lean on him to answer your questions. Not to mention, there’s a sort of casual connection, getting along with during the long work hours.
“Catch.” he tells you, his keys jumping from his palm into line with your face. You flinch, your hand coming up to protect yourself, but when you hear his snicker you peel your eyes open in time to see the lanyard still connected to the keychain yank them back into his palm. The loop of it never left his wrist, effectively faking you out.
“Ugh! Jerk.” you scold, punctuating it with a hit to his arm. It keeps him entertained, that snicker sustaining as he spins the keys around his index finger before shoving them into his back pocket. The lanyard swings out from behind him as he walks off.
Suffice to say, you feel like you’ve known him for a long time. Like as one of your friends punky older brother, or someone you went to high school with and had a couple classes with. You aren’t quite friends, but you’re comfortable around him.
Not to mention, you like that he has your back against customers. He’s explained to you, “It’s not that I think you can’t handle it, I just really love pissing people off.” which you think is his way of trying to avoid undermining you when he steps in. You’re not the most confrontational person in the world, but he sounds like he is.
At one point, a customer had invited himself past the counter, and since you deal with sensitive information at this job, you could very well be fired for having someone see something they shouldn’t. Your heart rate jumps at the prospect of termination, mixed with the twinge of anxiety that comes with kicking someone out.
Before you can steel yourself, Indy beats you to it. “Sir, you can’t be back here.” he begins as he strides towards the customer. Instead of politely backing out from behind the counter, he simply waves Indy off, continuing to eye the merchandise at his leisure.
Indy doesn’t hesitate, stepping in front of the client, cutting his view off and herding him towards the door with his body. “Back up. Back.” he directs, and the stranger travels backward but at a snail’s pace.
“I am, I am.” he relents, and you can see on his face he’s resentful at being treated like a child.
“Takin’ your sweet time.” Indy chides, and follows him until the man is safely behind the door. “I will get to you when I’m ready.” Out of all of his words, those are his most firm, and even if they’re simple, the entire situation had you on edge. It was an elegant show of strength, rather than some pissing contest, and it saved you the trouble of doing it yourself. Indy strides past you, and you get a whiff of his cologne. Your heart beats fast, but it’s not because of the confrontation anymore.
“Thanks.” you tell him later when you get the chance.
He looks down at you, surprised you’d say such a thing. In classic Indy fashion, he doesn’t play the knight-in-shining-armor. He twists it into a joke, manually lowering your expectations of him. “What were you gonna do about it, squirt? Frown really hard at him?”
Instead of playfully admonishing him, you feel braver. Your finger comes to flick at the black bandana he chose to wear around his neck today. He tries out little fashion accessories every now and then. “You look like a dork.” you say, and at the sight of your reach his eyes follow to the destination.
Furrowing his brows at your taunt, he shrugs it off to continue his work on the computer, “Shut up, I look awesome.” he replies. Your gaze glues to how his long fingers sweep across the screen.
Around the same time every day, Indy takes a smoke break by his car, and today you join him.
“Hey, kid. Over here.” he’d said. Now, your tailbone is leaned up against his car door as he offers you a cigarette. You shake your head. He takes a long drag, and you’ve noticed that he lets the smoke linger as a cloud in his mouth before inhaling. It’s an observation made after staring too long at his piercings in the dull light behind your building.
It’s odd. Most coworkers you’ve had, they’ve jumped at the opportunity to ask you to hang out outside of work. However, Indy’s never done that. So you question if he’s into you like you’re into him, or if he’s just polite. You’re a little disappointed he hasn’t given you the chance to say yes to him because standing here now you’d say yes in a heartbeat.
“Why’d you call me over here?” you question, your curiosity and the need to fill the silence getting the better of you. He peers at you from out of the corner of his eye, and you feel small.
“What if I like having you around?” It’s not really a question, the tone shifting to a sarcastic one—as if enjoying your presence warrants a reason further than just that. “You itching to get back to work or something?” He gestures towards the front entrance with his hand. “You can go, I won’t keep you.”
“Jesus, Indy. Chill.” you tell him, melting into a condescending laugh. “You’re so wired.” Your insults are to mask how your chest jumped at the thought that he likes having you around.
It’s an idea you ride all the way into calling him for a hook up that night. It’s not hanging out after work, it’s fucking in his car. Neither of you got the chance to hop into the backseat, straddling his lap in the reclined driver’s instead. His tongue in your mouth smooths over your own, coaxing it to play as his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. His septum piercing bumps the bulb of your nose, making for a clumsy make-out session when you try to avoid it—he doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, the noises in the back of his throat grow in volume the sloppier it is.
Your hands run through his hair, tugging on the locks every time he does something you like. It’s a good reward system, he’s a quick learner, and the longer you kiss the dizzier you become.
When it breaks for air, he murmurs against your lips, “Can’t wait to see what you feel like.” Electricity runs up your spine, giving you that push to free your swollen sex. You’re so close to him you recycle breath, stray pecks punctuating your excitement as you raise yourself so he can unbuckle his belt and dip the waistband below his dick. Hard and long, it lulls out and onto his happy trail. The condom rolls on, and he palms your flexed ass to help you situate onto him. “Knew you liked me.” With his smug grin, the subtlest dimples dent into his features, and you fight the urge to hit him again.
“Shut up, Indy.” you hiss, eager to push onto him. His other hand is gripped around his base, lining himself up with you. Your knees bend until you feel his head nudge against your slit.
Bracing yourself onto the seat behind him, you fix your eyes where your sexes join, while Indy keeps his gaze on you. “Asking me for help all the time, gotta explain the same shit to you over ‘n’ over again. Letting me take the mean customers. Looking up at me with those fuck-me eyes every time I did. You’re so easy.”
“Indy-y-y!” you whine, trying to force yourself down but he stays just out of reach, letting you bounce helplessly on his tip. “Just put it all in!” You’re wet, and aching. The soreness only exacerbating by the lack of massage, the promise of what’s to come wrestled out of your hands by your coworker.
“Nah, I’ve been waiting for this.” he breathes, and you can tell this is hard for him, too. Exhale is labored and a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. “Gonna savor it.”