Work Text:
The later hours of a workshift are undoubtedly Roblox’s favorite- when nary a soul remains in the labyrinth of cubicles but him and Builderman, maybe another administrator too at times. They preferred when it’s just their boss usually, the only person they knew for so long that devoted themselves to the job just as much as they did, when they weren’t distracted that is.
In recent times, that capability to focus on work tasks has dwindled considerably, even when it wasn’t noticeable to most, Roblox’s keen eyes and observation is akin to a hawk. They felt it from the beginning; more days off, wearing a lost and disgruntled countenance all the time… something deeply bothered the man.
It pained Roblox to remark mentally just how closely their expression looked like theirs now, but even more so than the physical likeness is why he slowly became like that. Like a husk of a person- a vessel realizing its purpose is to work all along and it would reap nothing to take the edge off. Oh, how sorrowful that shift in demeanor really feels, how deep it sinks into Roblox’s person, how much it festers in the marrow of their bones. Metastasizing. They felt the same.
Telamon’s disappearance wasn’t easy for anyone at headquarters; that’s something everyone would agree on without hesitation. One day they were here, and the next they were gone. Roblox didn’t even get to see them before they officially went missing, something they figure they’ll have to sleep with for the rest of their life. They’ve sadly grown accustomed to this sort of outcome; nothing stops the forms from littering their desk. Work never slows down, never ceases.
They were fond of Telamon, fond of quite a few people really. Any expression of how they felt scarcely ever left their lips, they ended up taking solace in the fact that at the very least, those kind thoughts were had. Telamon had a way of just knowing what to say, what to do, how to act. The accuracy is equal parts fascinating and unsettling, they weren’t the type to even speak much to boot. Not a shred of doubt exists in Roblox’s mind that everyone found that tall, uncanny deity-like figure fascinating in their own way.
Between the studious clacking of their keyboard and sliding of scattered forms on their encumbered desk, they reminisce about a time they shared not too long ago. Against all odds, they were convinced at the late hour of two A.M on a Saturday to accompany them to a hole in the wall bar. The only reason Roblox went along with the outlandish request is because they let their emotions get the better of them throughout the day. About time they get out, they figure.
A few drinks in their system would surely help them sleep in on the weekend, Roblox suddenly found their skin prickling with… unease that night. A morbid curiosity. Any kind of alcohol usually puts them into a deep sleep once they’d made it back home; so how did Telamon know that anyway? Being told three of their favorite drinks is their limit still haunts Roblox to this day.
It wasn’t just that, either. It was how they felt about themselves at work, their struggle to stay afloat in the choppy waters consisting of papers and forms. ”You don’t give yourself permission to be who you are outside of work.” They murmured to them so matter of factly.
Those words echo incessantly inside of Roblox’s mind like a spastic cacophony of bells- that rich tone, the confidence behind every syllable, like they were reading their palms rather than giving advice. Moments like those stuck like a burr inside Roblox's brain; at least it's a pleasant one… lodged next to the one that reminds Roblox of their disappearance. Of course. Optimism never lingered with the long shadows of pessimism casting like sundown.
Roblox's weathered digits grip the fountain pen as they scrawl away their name on an appeal. The thud of the denial stamp feels like a gunshot in the quiet of their cluttered office; the irritation of the workload starting to surface in their actions. Their last one for the evening at least, but now their attention needs to be redirected elsewhere as indicated by the highlighted notification in the bottom right of their screen. The hand on their squeaky computer mouse hovers over a new email; the sender is… surprisingly, their superior.
Builderman wasn't the type to send emails, he'd usually show up to the intended recipient's door if only to have an excuse to indulge in some very unnecessary office chatter. Roblox often felt like a buzzard circling freshkill whenever they caught the man doing so back then, carefree as ever, impossibly ignorant of the flooding responsibility threatening to drown them both. They're sure it's his way of coping despite their vocal disapproval of the fact, it wasn't like their own were examples worthy of being followed anyway.
The contents were expected; delegations. Yet again Roblox is saddled with responsibilities that they'd rather not have to deal with. Especially these kinds, where they're suddenly in charge of assigning and monitoring the workload of someone else. Their brows furrow as their eyes track each word…
[ ... Something urgent has come up. I need you to take charge for the evening and assign intern Shedletsky further assignments in the experience auditing field in my absence for the rest of his shift. You should have already gone home for today, but I know your habits. Please take care of this for me. Thank you. ]
It stopped feeling like a bold assumption that they'd just accept the task years ago- Roblox just swallows any complaints and deals with it regardless of mood. For headquarters, for him, for everyone. It had to be done. Their fingers stop picking at each other and flex over the keyboard. They don't ask themselves why another person is working this late- maybe they didn't understand what second shift meant yet? It's anyone's guess; an irrelevant thought altogether.
The newish hire seemed nice enough, had the glint of a small wild animal in their onyx eyes the first time they saw them. Every intern is like that, cheeks flushed like they're running a high fever, worried arched brows, extremely apologetic and nervous. Shedletsky, apparently, wasn't much different than that generalization. There was something about their gaze though:
Fondness. Familiarity. They looked at everyone like they'd seen them a thousand times over and then some despite their anxiety. A smile with a single small fang, an eyepatch, feathers on their face… headwings… headquarters has a knack for hiring oddballs when it counts. He didn't look like the type to work in an office, Roblox figured him to be some father figure or vigilante, until they heard him speak and laugh. Definitely some kind of geek.
Roblox couldn't shake that look for the rest of the week regardless; it felt like looking at an old friend, and that he was relieved that nothing changed in them all along. Sort of comforting. It perplexed them like mad. They were unable to find the crucial missing puzzle piece to complete the picture that'd explain the tightness in their chest that day. Without it, it became a feeling they didn't dwell on, fated to be buried deep in a tomb of thoughts in their hippocampus until some random minute of the day brands them in a memory flash.
Instead, they do what is asked of them, plain and simple, and with a heavy drawling sigh as their bitten nails itch their stubble. They wouldn't shy away from giving them a lot of work; intern or not. The reality that awaits him here is an ocean of paperwork where everyone else is already neck deep in, and he's only up to his ankles, maybe even below that.
It's impressive that they were hired by the insistent advocacy of Dusekkar as the new Heights guardian; that much they'll admit genuinely took them by surprise upon hearing. Telamon's fierce presence and elegant skill and dance with the sword in battle is simply unmatched, so what made Shedletsky such a good choice?
The only somewhat convincing reason is that eyepatch they wore, and the facial marring. It all reeks of pointless office gossip- nothing Roblox fancied getting tied up in ever, unlike his various coworkers with their imaginative theories and conspiracies. Some of them were quite outrageous and colorful.
A large collection of sent in forms to be audited and reviewed is selected with a long drag of their mouse, and then plopped into his work queue. An email is quickly typed up and a ‘nice’ reminder is tacked on at the end.
[ ...Reach out through email if you absolutely require assistance. ] It read: but really, it's a nice way of saying “please just complete this and go home.” Because Heights above, Roblox can't remember the last time they left at the hour they're scheduled to clock out at.
Their tired dull navy eyes ignore checking the time to spare themselves the depressing daily reality check. Another day (every day, really) of working until it was dark out and the cold nips at their skin unless it was summer. After pinching a pained finger they managed to chew enough to break skin, they're switched back into work mode.
—
It felt like their eyelids wore sandbags after a mere half hour. Most of their work was dealt with for the day; by all accounts, they were nearly done at an actually reasonable hour. They only had to supervise Shedletsky's progress now, and really, if he was almost done, Roblox would just expedite things by completing it themselves. A favor to them, to be home before 11PM.
A series of clicks, the swish of their mouse, and his workload is opened.
Not a single one was even opened. The time read 8:34PM. A hard knot forms in their throat that they try to swallow down. What the fuck?
Their head spins, mind becoming a swirling vortex of frustration and bitter words. Why was nothing even touched? He has to be playing hooky, or maybe they fell asleep at their desk; either way, he's in big trouble. Roblox's fists clench with repressed annoyance, pressing their palms into their paper lawn desk to get up. They'd teleport to their cubicle if they knew where he sat, but that wasn't information they were privy to.
The coordination and connections bureau is just up two flights and in the adjacent glass tower of headquarters, that's as much as they knew as inferred from their email profile. Roblox's fury isn't something Shedletsky should bear witness to, not this early in their career here at least, so they decide to take the long way to simmer their negativity.
Walks like these always do Roblox some good, letting them stretch their legs and get in (largely insignificant) cardio along the way. Both fists didn't unclench yet, but they loosened when stuffed into their black hoodie pocket. It's too warm out to wear their designer jacket; a favored piece of attire born from a rash splurge of robux, so their large hoodie pocket would have to do.
They recall that off-comment Builderman made one day, how grumpy they looked when they did that, but it’s a habit that came about to hide their hands. Too many little cuts and bandaids, tiny brands from the claws of work, it made them feel incredibly self-conscious. Surely Shedletsky won’t have the same sentiments, he’d be too busy apologizing and groveling for the slacking off, too distracted to notice or make a mental note of their natural seeming… grumpiness.
Crossing the glass bridge is a refreshing trip, the crisp night air did wonders to sponge their annoyance out with aplomb. Their chest lightens some, the deep inhale and exhale actually feels effective, a noticeable slower heartbeat after the breathing exercise. Maybe it’s the memory of how Shedletsky seemed like a deer in the headlights that day they saw them, or that odd ineffable sensation they felt looking at them, but they put extra effort into regaining composure in favor of retaining their edge of professionalism.
And wow did they need it, what breaks the still silence of the bureau’s floor sends a wave of goosebumps throughout their body in a wave of fire. It sounds so muffled, so quiet and indecent, Roblox swears up and down that it just can’t be.
It could’ve been sobs, could’ve been moans, a mixture of both- Roblox genuinely could not tell. Whatever private, intimate-sounding symphony they’re bearing witness to, they wanted no more of it; the reason simply needed to be revealed. Their sneakers tap against the corporate carpeting as they approach the source, unable to help their countenance from screwing taught with suspicion. The former is definitely confirmed as they draw near- unsettling noises of rustling and pained groans worsen the anxiety prickling under their skin now; their pace hurries.
A loud whine cuts through the air, carrying through the empty floor without restraint like no one was around to hear, which sadly isn’t the case. Their breath comes heavy in slow ragged hitched gasps- the sharp slam of a fist presumably crashing against wood in white-hot agony.
Each inhalation sounds like a calculated risk from Shedletsky, and the bolt of pain steals his air entirely. When Roblox rounds the corner, they spot him- the intern’s half-curled over, one arm twisted awkwardly behind him, fingers desperately kneading at the offended muscle through his shirt. The movement is frantic, useless; he can’t find the right angle, can’t apply enough pressure to two strange clothed bumps on his back.
Roblox’s jaw is… slacked, face frozen over in utter worry and horror at the sight before them. Shedletsky’s eyes are screwed shut, but the fat wet tears escape anyway, born of sheer, overwhelming somatic frustration. A low, broken whimper escapes with each exhale- a sound of pure, animal distress. He uselessly arches his back into the backrest of the office chair and kneads into it, hard. Another pained yelp leaves him in a broken noise as he flinches off the back, and the breath he draws in brutally tugs any heart strings- he’s deeply sobbing.
They don’t say anything, not yet. Despite their heart racing like a frantic bird trying to escape its claustrophobic cage, they quickly try to analyze the situation. Some stained rolls of gauze loosely hang around the armrest of his office chair, even more lay in tattered strands on the table, a considerable amount. Something murky that’s discernibly not blood muddies the off-white fabric, and a good stretch of it clings like a loose thread between his back and the white dress-shirt. The nubs behind his back noticeably wriggle and writhe, the whole thing seemed like a borderline horror skit to Roblox, one that’s regrettably very real and happening.
“Mr. Shedletsky-” They murmur cautiously, like a wind that’s too afraid to rustle branches in the pitch quiet of a snow forest. Far too cautious, too tentative. Afraid. They force themselves into the cubicle space and place their hands on their shoulder and back- the bigger man moves away like Roblox’s hands are actively repulsing him away, his head whips around with widened eyes glazed in fear and pain.
“R-ro’... uh, Mr. Roblox-... sir.” His voice weakly calls, interrupted midway by a wince and a whine, sharply curling his back with a prolonged groan. “It’s fine- it- it… goes away!”
“You are not fine.” Roblox reprimands with worry, their hands moving to seek their body again to try and alleviate whatever was happening to them. When their slender digits glide along the width of his back to the first writhing nub, the scream that leaves his lungs startles Roblox so badly that they stumble back clumsily. Roblox’s heart thrashes against their ribs, lurching with immense grief at unintentionally causing that pain.
“Please-... don’t…” Both words are barely coherent, too shaken up and broken, much too difficult to listen to- they just want to help, but how?
“It’s-... a c-condition…” Shedletsky tries. Roblox knows they’re lying, but that could be questioned later. Their hands stubbornly clutch onto the fat of his forearm instead, like that grip could provide reliable stability for him. "Just a… f-flare up…" He ‘corrects’ after a long held breath.
“Whatever this is, you need help. I can help. I just- need to know how.” They didn’t know if those were horns or some kind of spines, but it’s clear the man could not reach to properly tenderize the aching muscles around it. Whatever’s on the gauze seemed slightly oily- maybe medication? It smelled pretty musky, and very much not medicinal, there wasn’t enough time to really understand the situation. They figure it’s some kind of salve for a rash or something of the sort, if they ignored those odd protrusions. Roblox’s eyes dart over the man in search of something, trying to gauge how far the pain invades his body and senses.
"It hurts so bad…" Shedletsky’s withered headwings tremble as he latches onto his knees with a white-knuckle grip. The way his back arches, he’s almost formed a half-circle, the cooked shrimp posture looked incredibly uncomfortable considering his weight. "Fuck… fuck!"
Another ripple of pain rushes through his veins like acid, eyes tightening impossibly more, tears squeezing out like water from a wrung out towelette. He bears his teeth, surprisingly sharp canines gritting hard against the other in a pained grimace. Spittle actually seeps through- a telltale sign of pain that should warrant a medical professional’s intervention at this point.
“I’m going to call for emergency services.” Roblox declares, removing a hand to fish around in their jeans pocket, but that arm is snatched back with alarming strength. "No- please…" He whines pitifully. "I’ll- let you help…" His voice drips with desperation. With surrender. They don’t have time to understand why he wouldn’t want an actual Robloxian who can provide medical aid right now, but they already acknowledged silently that whatever’s on his back is the culprit. They steel themselves as Shedletsky moves their hand near the same one they mishandled a moment before.
"Just be slow… -please." He urges in a quivering plea. "Slow- careful, delicate— w-whatever… you get it..." The clothed bump trembles less now, as though it’s awaiting the help it desperately needs. Slow... and careful, Roblox repeats to themselves.
Once the courage solidifies, their splayed fingers start their task and experimentally sink into the surrounding area. Shedletsky winces initially, but he breathes in deep through the nose, the noise sounds like a pronounced hiss as his nostrils flare in concentration. It must’ve taken every inch of his resolve to keep still and not mindlessly flail around in misery.
Roblox wasn’t even sure they wanted to do this, they didn’t feel capable of tending to Shedletsky like this truth be told, it felt like trudging through a swamp with a blindfold on. At any point their feet could get caught on undergrowth and they’d faceplant into mud, pushing them all the way back to square one in terms of progress.
The vulnerability plastered on his face overrode any real urge to run away from helping though; there was just no fighting it, Roblox damns their selfless nature. Always keen on giving, endlessly stubborn about receiving.
At least they felt more autonomy in this decision; ‘work’ that they would see the benefits of sooner rather than never. Hopefully.
“It would be easier to remove your shirt to-” They start.
"No. Don’t." Shedletsky interrupts, the serious tone ends that avenue of conversation right then and there. Roblox suppresses a sigh at his obdurate display despite how compromised he is. Fine then, they’ll simply have to struggle so he could achieve relief.
Carefully, the padding of their bandaged fingers slide up towards the base of the problem hidden in plain sight. Nothing felt out of place at least, they thought he might’ve dislodged his shoulder blade somehow, but that seemed in order. Dislocating both would certainly be a feat for the ages.
They start with a soft side-to-side massage, continuing despite Shedletsky’s suppressed whimpers in hopes of hearing those noises quiet down. Roblox’s fingers slide up towards the base- the intern’s shoulders barely stop from bunching: so they deduce that’s a no-go for now. Down their fingers go, covering a wider expanse of muscle in the same motion.
As they work into the bothered muscle, that peculiar fluid starts to dampen their fingers especially when they knead in an upwards stroke, like they’re coaxing something. The whimper from the intern sounds… less excruciating now, thankfully- a small surge of hope flows through them, maybe they can do this.
The poor guy was sweating, there’s little beads of perspiration dappling his temple as he paces his breathing into languid, shuddery inhales, trying his hardest to relax. Now their palms are introduced into the caresses, the added padding elicits a subtle gasp in shock from Shedletsky, but they acquiesce to the addition. Compared to their crazed freakout from before, this is a noticeable improvement, one Roblox hopes lasts while continuing their efforts, pursuing his relief.
Fresh tears still flowed from the man’s face, he must still be in intense pain still, but then it dawned on the admin that they’ve only been tending to one problematic area. How forgetful.
“Mr. Shedletsky, could I get you to face more away from me?” Roblox already sets their plan in motion by raising the armrest of their chair, craning their head to see if reaching over them was possible in case they couldn’t do it.
"I can-... try…" He murmurs, slowly starting to shift in place. It’s a sluggish process, but his backside is more or less parallel to Roblox’s front, still curled over like a wilting flower. Both of those weird… things, shuffle about slightly underneath the dress shirt. How could they have never noticed? Did anyone else notice them? Why doesn’t Shedletsky wear less cumbersome attire to accommodate these… ‘growths’, Roblox decides to nickname. His chair groans from the adjusting weight as they improperly angle themselves into a cross-legged sit.
There weren’t any hard dress codes after all, just be respectably decent, nothing too risqué. Everyone is sensible about the rulings, and judging by the token ‘dress-shirt and slacks’ he had on, he didn’t quite figure that out yet. Roblox is certain they’ll figure that part out sooner or later, pretty much every administrator wears whatever they want, but interns didn’t think they had the same privilege. Just another office habit that remains uncontested until the interns are promoted into whatever branch or bureau they sought after.
With both palms flat against the warmth of his back, they begin their massaging efforts once again, earning a long moan of pain from the man as they knead the fat of his back. A thousand sorries rested on the tip of their tongue- they hated hearing that wounded cadence, but they needed to persevere. Any thoughts about going home at a timely hour have been long since abandoned before Roblox could even realize.
The shirt is a soft fabric no doubt, but that couldn’t disguise that the skin beneath is even softer, every motion slides smoothly over the subcutaneous layer beneath. He’s terribly reactive, every single inch their fingers claimed is met with a tense, a twitch, an attempt to relax only to be forced taught like a drawn bowstring.
When they push into the fat below the nubs with the heels of their palms, it parts and redistributes, flowing like warm, thick dough. It doesn't offer the defined resistance of muscle, but a slower, more substantial give- he’s definitely got strong muscles judging by that sudden grasp from before. No question there. The silence slowly fills with the deepening sounds of soft, rhythmic scuffing, a quiet and steady cadence that matches the admin’s slow rhythmic breathing. It’s the sound of care, of attention. Dutiful and even reverent.
Roblox gathers a handful of skin, feeling the weight and heat of it in their grip, the give underneath their digits, before it settles back into place when they release. They barely even noticed that the whimpers have all but diminished into soft uncomfortable groans, clear discomfort still present in his voice. Not out of the woodworks, but getting there.
It got easier as the newly gained confidence guided their hands, it took them a while to notice the pungent ichor staining their hands- that odd smell slows their ministrations to a halt. The tips of their fingers dig into their palms- whatever’s staining even past the shirt is remarkably oily, far more than they initially acknowledged. Their noise crinkles from the powerful musky-sweet odor as they bring their hands closer to their face, squinting at the fluid inquisitively like it owes them an explanation.
“Do… you usually leak from your back?” Roblox eventually murmurs, squelching the fluid in their palms- it’s a repugnant sound, for all they know it actually could be ichor.
After a bout of quiet, slow panting, Shedletsky’s headwings flutter in a sheepish manner; he hesitates to respond.
"I… guess?" An answer that doesn’t answer anything. "When it’s, like this…"
“You at the very least owe telling me whether I’m messing around with a wound underneath. By the way, your shirt is absolutely soaked with this fluid.” At that, Roblox gathers up the thick ribbons of gauze on their computer desk, ridding their hands of that unnamed liquid. Even if the act was largely pointless since their work wasn’t done, it’s a nice bit of respite they seize and appreciate.
The air between them grows quiet, heavy with the unspoken. It’s as clear as day that the man wants to say something that’d lead them on the right path, but for reasons beyond the admin, he just doesn’t budge.
"Please just, continue. Thank you, you’re- doing me a favor I won’t ever forget." He practically lathers on that praise like a overly-decorated confection, intent on utilizing flattery to deflect from the interrogation. Luckily for him, that works in Roblox’s favor, though they’d never verbally affirm the success of his… skillful gamble, more or less.
So their hands plant themselves right onto his back again, shirt damp with the unknown, but this time there’s less caution in their efforts. Obviously the more fluid seeped from the protrusions, the more of the area they could work their hands around. It became a simple game of negotiation- knead as much as Shedletsky could handle before he writhes from discomfort, then pinch the section underneath the bulge to wick more of that fluid.
Roblox notices that it doesn’t feel like they’re actually squeezing fluid from the nubs, they’re clearly already coated from prior efforts. A cursory glance at the man’s hands clutching his kneecaps confirms the theory- they’re still slick with the substance. They’re honestly surprised they hadn’t noticed or caught the aroma wafting about sooner- it’s so ineffably Shedletsky in a way they didn’t want to divulge.
It also mostly blemished around the protrusions themselves, whatever Shedletsky was using to… medicate or something, was already lathered over them before they happened upon them like this. If more of that fluid was needed, then they wouldn’t be able to obtain it due to his reluctance to elaborate on his ‘condition.’
The pain seemed to be mostly gone now, the little notes of discomfort have melted away in favor of content noises. Deep, rumbling hums of approval and encouragement bellow in their throat like a cat’s purr. The switch isn’t even registered by Roblox, they’re just mindlessly indulging in the quarry of Shedletsky’s pain relief.
They’re a person of habit. Of ritual. It certainly shows in their continued backrubs long after their goal is presumably achieved. If Roblox were a hunting animal, they would give chase and love every bit of it; that’s just the kind of hard worker they are.
It’s… nice. To hear someone like this, to hear the fruits of their labor, it felt good. More than they’d ever let on. Their face is a stone-cold countenance of focus, and the man they spent the last half hour tending to has… stretched their arms onto the semi-cluttered table, arms loosely bent with his head cradled in between them. Every caress results in a content hum- they didn’t realize that Shedletsky’s this vocal and noisy, well, would be this way, when doing things like this. Just where was Roblox’s mind even going?
The arch and twist of his back reminded the admin of a cat in every way for better or for worse, all that was missing was a tail at this point. Their eyes gaze over their form, following the natural curve as they trail down his lower back. That’s when they see it.
A tail.
A dusky plumage that’s more of a clump that’s certainly worse for wear, it looked just like their headwings in terms of color and state. It could barely be called one to be frank, it’s surprising that the thing still moves. If that’s a tail, then those nubs behind his shirt left nothing to imagination- those’re definitely wing stubs. His tail is actively wagging from the massage, fluttering in a gleeful dance. Color rushes to Roblox’s grey complexion in an instant- they didn’t even mean to look there, but they just can’t… look away.
It’s so hopelessly cute.
Their breath catches mid-inhale, and they sputter in a coughing fit. The blissfully unaware Shedletsky turns his head around slowly, fixing an oddly affectionate, pleading gaze up at Roblox.
“Ro’, why’d you stop…?” He quietly mewls, completely disoriented.
That nickname makes every hair on their body stand up in alarm- it feels… strangely intimate in their voice, like they’re used to calling them that. There’s something vexing about it they just can’t place, it feels familiar, just like the moment they first locked eyes with each other. Why was this even happening? Roblox struggles to respond appropriately, all words died in their throat just then; so actions have to do the heavy lifting for them.
They resume their motions against their better judgement. The hesitance lingers for a few seconds before they get back into the groove of things, Shedletsky’s voice drawls in a sweet little croon, like the sensation he’s feeling is borderline ethereal. The hidden appendages flex underneath the mottled crisp-white of his dress shirt when an especially tender swipe of their palm slides up his center. Their eyes widen watching the man curl his back into their touches, like a cat leaning into it's owners palm. Roblox's breath gets caught in their throat.
“...fffffuck, that’s good…” The intern praises in a soft quaver.
The enthrallment lasts a moment too long before Roblox finally pulls the plug on their greedy hands, sliding them off his back and rubbing them poorly on the sides of their jeans. An oily sheen still lingers on their fingers. Too many things rattled around in their mostly vacant head now, many incomprehensible thoughts that they’re glad are their own and only their own.
"I…" They finally utter a response, quietly clearing their throat. “I think your pain is gone. …Whatever that… -was.”
"Yeah… it, -it is.” Shedletsky murmurs with palpable anxiety- the tone shift is like night and day, like he realized just how domestic he became for a moment. How he melted under Roblox’s fervent desire to aid, everything hit like a devastating cataclysmic meteor instantly. His eyes go wide like saucers full of fear, scrambling up from his desk and straightening out his attire like he could still pick up the atoms of his dignity off the carpeted floor of his cubicle.
“I-... your hands, oh man… I’m sorry- it’s, it’s nothing bad. Just, pungent?”
“Yes. Your own hands as well.” Roblox points out plainly. The ability to switch into their corporate front is a life skill they attained a newfound gratitude for. That flush on their face isn’t dying down quick enough though, they feel Shedletsky’s nervous gaze linger on it for a moment too long. Their throat works, swallowing audibly.
“Just- clean up. Please go change… or- or don’t. It’s just us here, do… what you want.” Roblox’s shoes already start backtracking out of the cubicle that wafts with a warm scent. The feathers underneath the intern’s eyepatch are noticeably fluffed up, and his cheeks dither with a pleasant rosy hue.
At least they can walk away from what just happened knowing they’re both incredibly embarrassed about… what took place. A lapse of unprofessionalism by Roblox, maybe one they really needed deep down. They found the idea far too repulsive to unpack- and like many things, the tide of work would more than likely sweep this into their busy subconscious, only thought of at the most sporadic of times.
Shedletsky looks like he doesn’t want to watch Roblox depart, a hand even outstretched, splayed claws pointed towards the distant admin and their growing distance. Roblox acknowledges the emotion with a curt nod- it felt painfully dismissive, but they’re intent on leaving and not picking their brain about why they’d indulge beyond what was necessary.
"Thank you…" He murmurs weakly, not that they could hear his gratitude from this far away now- they’re a small figure in the intern’s eyes watching them beeline for the staircase. When Roblox finally starts descending the stairs back to their office, an exasperated sigh leaves them at such a volume that there’s no way Shedletsky could’ve missed it.
All they’re going to think about now is that damned tail and the way he felt in their palms- how they sounded during the experience. The questions they wanted to ask during the aid spun around and around until it threatened vertigo. They think they might very well die on the way to their basement office from the headrush, from their face flushing with embarrassment that intensely and for so long.
They were so distracted that when their tired body crumples onto their leathery office chair and their fingers find their usual positions on the workstation’s keyboard, they stain the piece of equipment.
With the remnants of that viscous ‘wing’ fluid. The burning memory of the selfish indulgence… to ‘help’, a fellow intern.