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Dwight is like an itch.
Jim knows what it looks like. Jim is the all-American, good-looking, wunderkind of the office. The sardonic commentator on the nonsensical nature of the world around him.
Dwight is - frustrating, annoying, infuriating - but people see him as - unattractive, dorky, effeminate - a mess but not a hot one. If Jim is an Scranton eight, Dwight is a Scranton three - at best.
And yet -
there's something. Something that makes the vicious edge of Jim's teeth ache. Maybe it's how easy Dwight is - how easy to fool, how easy to overwhelm, how easy to humiliate, how easy to dominate - and the fact that Dwight doesn't want to be easy.
But he is.
And - he could be, Jim thinks, when his thoughts wander to more impure places.
The first flush of arousal happens during a prank. Jim's been watching for it.
He's had his suspicions and for all Jim's ribbing of how 'cute' Dwight looks he's never gotten this reaction.
This reaction is - dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, adam's apple bobbing, a slight shift of Dwight's hips forward and the look of sheer humiliation on his face.
A moment later it downgrades to mortification and the moment after that something like nausea.
Everyone is laughing, except Dwight.
Maybe Jim feels a little bad about it. Until Dwight takes off in a diatribe railing against Jim and calling half-heartedly for his resignation over a spilled soda pop can. Something bitter and angry cracks like a whip inside Jim - makes him vindictive, even if it isn't a righteous vindication.
The red soda pop doesn't quite show up against the dark woolly material covering Dwight's crotch, but the small bit that's splashed to soak a bottom section of his shirt looks bright red, like maybe Dwight's been shot.
As Dwight's winding down, forcibly calming his anger, Jim gets one last zinger in.
"That was quite a temper tantrum, Dwight. But that's my fault for aggravating you - since we can all see so clearly that it's your time of the month."
Even Pam glares at him for that one.
Dwight flusters, answerless, before he turns and stalks from the room back towards the bathrooms. Now that Jim's powers of perception are at work he doesn't miss the slight flushed breathlessness, the stiff posture, or the slight swell at the front of Dwight's slacks.
If Jim wanted, Dwight is already in the bag.
Jim has to remind himself he doesn't want to.
Dwight is difficult, silly, naive, kind of stupid, unattractive, overbearing, cringy, out of shape and his face sometimes reminds Jim of a pug. And people would know - know that that is what did it for Jim. It's a little humiliating that Dwight is what gets his engines going.
Jim really wouldn't want anyone to know.
Only Dwight wouldn't want them to know either, strangely enough. Not because of Jim, but because of what it would say about himself.
Dwight is at the obvious disadvantage.
Jim likes knowing, that if he were to make a move - barring a hard no and total rebuff - Dwight could never say a word about it.
He doesn't plan on using the knowledge.
But Dwight is so trying, isn't he?
It's a Tuesday when things come to a head.
Jim knows - privately, though he'll never admit to it - that he's been really pushing it lately. And yeah, maybe it has something to do with the way Dwight squirms uncomfortably under his gaze.
"What are you looking at now?" Dwight says dourly.
"Your pretty eyes." Jim says, without missing a beat.
Dwight nearly sneers, but in an almost hurt way like he knows it can't be true because the statement is inherently untrue. Which it isn't, but the reaction pleases Jim. Across the room Jim can see Meredith roll her eyes.
"I suggest you focus on your own work Jim."
"I don't know Dwight, you make it kind of hard." It's said sarcastically, but it's still maybe a little unfortunate when Creed gets hold of conversation and speaks up.
"Yeah it's that uggo face of yours, very offputting."
"No one asked you." Dwight sneers for real, but it's defensive.
Jim thinks it's kind of sweet.
"Come on Dwight," Phyllis says, in that soft tone of hers that always seems to hold devastation, "he's just having fun. At some point you just have to accept that you're not that attractive. I'm just saying that, well, you're no Jim."
"Excuse me Phyllis no one asked you." Dwight barks, "for your information, lots of people want me."
"Like who?" Jim asks with baited breath, giddily amused.
Dwight does look delicate then, in the wake of the quick devastation that crashes across his face for the span of a second.
"M-My personal life is none of your business." He says sternly, but really they both knew it was over the moment he stuttered.
He gets up from his desk then, quickly, and makes his way towards the bathroom.
His old standby.
Jim waits a moment after he's gone through the door and then he gets up to follow.
It isn't intentional, Jim wants to think, but really it can only be construed as such.
It could happen in the bathroom, but it won't because that's a place Jim will have to visit again and again and he doesn't want the memory replaying there. Really, the storage room between the bathrooms is the better option. No one will walk in on them haphazardly at any rate.
The only challenge is getting Dwight in the closet the moment he steps out of the bathroom. It turns out no one is paying attention, which is good, because Jim is a little stunned for a moment.
Dwight's face is redder than usual and his eyes are lined, almost like he'd been crying.
"Have you been crying?" Jim asks, before he thinks better of it.
"No." Dwight says emphatically, just as he tries to step past and is blocked.
"Come into the closet for a second." Jim cajoles innocently. "I mean, you must miss it when you're not in it."
"Oh please, like I'm going to - " Dwight begins for naught because as soon as Jim begins to herd him in, he goes, almost like he doesn't mean to obey but can't help it.
The thought stirs Jim's arousal.
"Like a lamb." He teases.
And then there's an angry Dwight in front of him staring him down. Unknowing of what's about to hit him.
For a brief moment, Jim's suddenly not sure he can do it. He's not sure he can act on the irrational feelings of attraction that he isn't supposed to be acting on to begin with.
He could just pretend it's a prank.
"What? Jim." Dwight says impatiently. "Pam doesn't want you so you have to accuse everyone of being unwanted? I'll have you know - "
And just like that, something a little darker and angry edges in. Takes Jim from his intention of being forcefully playful to something just downright mean, dominating.
"No one wants you." It's stated so clearly without any hesitation it pulls Dwight up short for a long blink.
"W-well-" Dwight begins weakly but Jim cuts him off.
Straightens and stands tall even as Dwight rounds in on himself, just a little.
"No one wants you Dwight."
Dwight's quiet that time, very still, a little injured. Jim sees the moment he's about to rally himself and cuts it off before it happens.
"I mean, you don't have a lot of options, do you Dwight?"
Dwight's unsure, off put by the short distance between them. When Jim reaches forward to roughly untuck his shirt he rears back as if Jim means to hit him and thumps dully against the wall.
"Hey," Jim calms in a soothing voice, "take it easy."
And just like that, like magic, Dwight does. He relaxes into himself at the nulled threat. Then looks immediately humiliated at his own instantaneous submission.
"I'm not - " he starts, but doesn't finish. He's breathing a little heavier as Jim steps closer.
When Jim reaches out to unbuckle Dwight's belt his hands come up to grasp at Jim's arms. He's wide eyed and quiet in a way he never is, and that makes Jim a little hesitant.
Dwight's hands are just resting, as if he's unsure of what he means to do himself.
"Dwight," Jim says lowly, moving in, "lets cut to the chase. You're never going to get a better offer. What's more, who will give you what you need? I know exactly what you need."
Dwight twitches in his arms, but otherwise makes no move to stop him.
"Are you going to let me make you feel good Dwight?" Jim continues, presses. He can feel that Dwight's about to give - if he hasn't already.
Nothing really escapes Dwight's mouth except a weak exclamation of Jim's name.
Jim grabs at Dwight's hips at that, as the belt comes loose, and pushes him slowly against the wall. It's lucky he does because as soon as his mouth connects with Dwight's neck his knees buckle until it's only Jim holding him up.
He's slow about it, so Dwight has no plausible deniability later. He almost feels bad when he pulls away, with how conflicted Dwight looks - a series of yes and no's flashing across his face. And yet, his hands scrabble for Jim when he pulls away to get his own pants open.
"Jim" Dwight says timidly, his whole face open, so much to read in it.
"Yeah." Jim responds mindlessly, making his work quick but he only gets as far as undoing his own belt because suddenly he can't wait.
It's only a second later his hands are down Dwight's pants. He pushes them down to his knees. Then he strokes. Dwight starts making little sharp noises. When Jim looks at him he struggles to bite them down completely - looks desperate and unsure and embarrassed. He starts coming undone rather quickly and Jim had kind of expected that - in another stroke Jim's sure he'd be finished. It's flattering, in a way.
Jim takes his hand off, watches in arousal as Dwight's hips hitch after it. There's a little mournful noise stuck in Dwight's throat that Jim wishes he could hear the entirety of. Finally, Dwight's eyes meet his.
"I don't know how..." Dwight trails off, unsure, but it's incongruous - because how is exactly what they're doing now. It puts Jim off a little, reminds him how ignorant Dwight can be. It's not even like Jim is really expecting a lot of reciprocity, given how Dwight is.
"I don't know how men..." Dwight says again, voice weak, and he's starting to flail so Jim helps him out.
Cavalier, he puts his arms around him and pulls him forward into an embrace. Dwight melts immediately. He jumps though when Jim's fingers skirt across his backside and trace the cleft. Trembles when Jim's fingers stutter against his opening.
"This, Dwight, this is how men fuck." Jim says before dipping his fingers inside. Dwight gasps loudly as he does it, leans his full weight into Jim.
"J-Jim-" Dwight begins and Jim pushes him back so he can see his face. He can tell he's close.
Dwight's face scrunches up when he comes. It should be kind of silly but instead it's cute. Jim likes it. Dwight pants, and shivers, and when his knees buckle again Jim holds him up.
"You sure have weak knees." Jim says, amused, until a thought takes hold of him, "Maybe I should let you fall to them. You'd look good there Dwight."
"I-" Dwight's befuddled, looks a little delicate with his confusion and brightly flushed face. His unsurety.
His hands timidly come to tug at Jim's waistband.
And oh - does Jim want. But something occurs to him then.
Not unlike a prank, because wouldn't it be oh so amusing if Jim were to just leave? Leave Dwight with that flushed, befuddled look on his face. Leave with Dwight's frustrated indignation at his perceived inadequacy - as if Jim's just done Dwight a favour.
Leave with all the power.
And just like that Jim's hands come up to catch Dwight's. He gathers them at the wrists and presses them back into Dwight's chest. He does his own pants up, but leaves Dwight with his dick out.
He straightens his clothes, clears his throat.
"Better clean your mess up." He shoots on his way out, with the highest intention to infuriate.
Because an irritated, infuriated Dwight is hot. And Jim knows now - that he can't stop, not even if everyone in the office eventually knows.
It's almost like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
He leaves without a backward glance because he doesn't want to ruin the effect.
Jim ducks into the bathroom next door and jerks off into the toilet in one of the stalls. It's honestly a wonder he even makes it. He isn't worried about Dwight finding him because he's sure it'll take him a few moments to collect himself and even if it didn't, Jim doesn't particularly care.
When Dwight comes back out to his desk Jim is sure he'll think that he's smoothly collected, not a hair out of place. But Jim knows as soon as Dwight looks up and Jim winks or hell, even just smiles, his composure will crack.
He'll blush, and maybe say something cruel and Jim hopes that he does. The crueler the better because all it'll do is feed Jim's arousal, show him how good he got Dwight. That he's under his skin and there is no hope of getting him out.
And now that Jim is thinking about it, he wants to take Dwight home after work. Teasing would be better, a build up of a few dates - and Jim's lovestruck, must be, or he wouldn't be looking forward to the prospect of cuddling up on the couch and watching some nerd show with Dwight - but most of all the thought of making Dwight ask for it.
He could make Dwight beg, knows he could.
Dwight doesn't come out after five minutes, after ten.
But Jim's accounted for up to forty minutes. Just for Dwight to have a brief freakout at his own subverted masculinity.
It's when he doesn't come back out within the hour that a cold knot of dread begins to form in Jim's stomach.
He goes to collect him.
When he pauses outside the door, he doesn't hear anything. Just to be sure he checks the men's washroom first. Which is a delay tactic because he's been watching, didn't want to miss a second, and he knows Dwight hasn't left the closet.
He doesn't knock.
The first thing he sees is Dwight huddled on the floor. His head snaps up at the door opening, and his tear stained face is like a punch to the gut. He looks - indescribable. Jim knows it's not good. Dwight scrambles forward and yanks the door shut in Jim's face.
Jim, maybe, has a brief moment of panic of his own where he all but wails on the door, pulling it back open. Dwight can't quite keep it closed but it's a near thing.
Jim looks to see if anyone is watching. Stanley is, but all he does is shake his head in annoyance before turning away.
"Let me in Dwight." Jim hisses, a little desperate.
There isn't an answer.
"Do you want everyone to know?" Jim continues, pulling on the handle. Dwight lets go so fast Jim nearly falls over when the door flies open.
"Don't." Dwight begs weakly, from his position on the closet floor.
Jim didn't mean it like that, he swears. That he was going to tell everyone. He only meant to say that people would see them and wonder.
For the first time in recent memory, Jim doesn't know what to do.
He closes the door behind him and sits himself down right beside Dwight.
"Dwight, did I hurt you?" He asks.
Because it's possible. Maybe he was too rough, pushed Dwight too hard and too far.
"Just...get it over with." Dwight says, voice all wrong - angry but he ruins it by whimpering at the end.
"Get what over with?" Jim asks, trying to keep his voice even.
Dwight is hurt, that much is obvious. Maybe not physically, but everything about him reeks of pain.
"Laugh, mock, whatever it is you do."
The bitter note in Dwight's voice is hard to take, it causes pangs in Jim's chest, because he put it there.
"I'm not going to do that." Jim says, shaken, "What would make you think I would do that?"
"I said just get it over with." Dwight snarls, "like I don't know what you really think of me."
No one wants you.
And Jim had said that, but he hadn't meant it. Hadn't expected Dwight to take it to heart. Mostly he'd been expecting Dwight to call his bluff. Because Jim wants Dwight and he may be the only one in the world who does but that doesn't change the fact that Jim wants Dwight.
"I'm a piece of shit." Jim says, suddenly, without context.
Because Dwight might be Scranton three and Jim might be an eight but if their places were reversed Dwight would never have done this to Jim. Would never have devalued him sexually - even if Jim had meant it to be teasing it's apparent it hadn't come across that way. And honestly, Jim knows he has something a little mean in him. That pushes too hard.
He's pushed too hard.
"Please don't tell me that they know. That they're all waiting for me to come out. Just to - just to -"
Dwight's taken his confession as something else.
"No one knows." Jim reassures, because at least that's something he can't screw up.
"Are you going to blackmail me?" Dwight asks, swallowing thickly, but finally his tears are under control. He looks resigned to the idea of it and that makes Jim's stomach turn.
"No." He says shortly.
"Then what - what do you want?" Dwight covers his face with his hands tiredly, "I don't know what you want Jim. I don't know why you did this. Why would you...it doesn't matter. Just tell me what you want."
It's something at least, that Dwight is still willing to talk to him.
"I don't want anything. Dwight I - I did it because I want you."
It's like a curtain closes over Dwight's face. So sudden it's scary.
"Alright, Jim." Dwight says, and pushes himself up to stand.
"Dwight-"
"Do whatever you want. I'm not playing anymore."
The only way Jim can think of to salvage the situation is to kiss him. He lays a hand on Dwight's arm and when Dwight doesn't stop him, he slowly pulls him in. The kiss itself is slow and soft, Jim would say romantic, and it only stops when Jim feels tears rush against his cheek.
"Don't cry." Jim murmurs.
That only makes Dwight cry more.
"stop. stop. don't pretend." is what Dwight is whispering. "just stop."
" 'm not pretending." Jim says lazily, and nuzzles at Dwight's jaw. At his mouth, and neck, hairline and cheek.
It takes a lot of kisses, a lot of slow syrupy sweet kisses. A lot of breathless, open mouthed presses of lips on lips before Dwight's truly calmed down.
Jim doesn't know how long it's like that. He hesitates to call it making out, it's more like making love like his grandmother always used to say about kisses and hand holding.
Dwight sighs, more a misdirected exhale, and leans into him and that's when Jim knows he's forgiven.
"We're wasting company time." Dwight says, before he pulls away. He straightens himself and makes to leave but Jim stops him and straightens his tie.
"There. Now you look respectably handsome, not a hair out of place." And the thing is, Jim does mean it.
Dwight is exactly to Jim's taste. On Jim's scale, he's a ten.
"Thanks," Dwight says flippantly, "girl."